Tales of the Librarian
by darcyfarrow
Summary: "If the fable is to be believed, I must make the ultimate sacrifice before the goddess of love will hear my appeal. I must surrender my magic." Rumplestiltskin may have a second chance with Bae and Belle, but he has to give up his magic for it-and risk upsetting the fragile balance of power between evil and good.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Wherein Belle Calls for Help

**A/N. The title is derived from the title of a Tori Amos album, **_**Tales of a Librarian**_**.**

* * *

It was fairly common knowledge that the Dark Castle boasted the largest and oldest library in all of the Enchanted Land, a library that the residents of Alexandria would envy (and, to be honest, would recognize in some part, Dark Ones over the ages having appropriated, in various ways, a hearty percentage of the Dark Library from Alexandria). Every Dark One, from Barthemass the Beheader to the present-day Rumplestiltskin, has seen the value of preserving and building the Dark Library, although some, less literate or less intellectually inclined, had added less than others; Valdof the Vain (the shortest-lived of all the Dark Ones: he just couldn't stay away from mirrors and a clever witch imprisoned him in one), for instance, had added only forty-one books to the collection—all of them containing stories about, well, Valdof the Vain. Horace the Muscle Bound had purchased (he wasn't much for trade or barter) only books about body building. But the current occupant of the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin, had, over his long reign, surpassed them all: his collection spanned the breadth of human knowledge, which, even for those days, was going some.

This is just one of the thousands of stories extant about Rumplestiltskin the Dealer, but it is perhaps the most important one, and quite likely it is the only one which focuses not on the imp's feats of magic or his strange deals or his highly complex grand scheme, but rather, on the role his library played in making him the wisest Dark One of all time—and the last Dark One of all time. This is also a tale, though just one of millions, of the power of love.

It's also a tale told by someone who saw some of it happen, and heard the rest from one of the main characters. Take that as you like. I will be the first to admit I have something at stake here: the continued affection of the Lady Belle, my friend of thirty years; and the continued good opinion of my employer, Rumplestiltskin. So it's with carefully chosen words that I tell the tale—but that's as writers often do; one of the most beloved word-spinners of your world said as much when she wrote, "Tell the truth but tell it slant."

Yes, perhaps it's a slanted truth I offer here, but truth nonetheless, for the parts of the story that were related to me by Lady Belle, I have no doubt whatsoever can be trusted, because _Lady Belle does not lie_. Now, as to whether you will trust me, allow me to offer this sole fact in my support: I am a librarian. More specifically, I am the Dark Castle's librarian. As with my peers in your world, truth is our stock-in-trade and integrity, our calling card. What follows is the truth—as Charming would say, "the truth of the heart"—as I know it from my own witness of it and from Belle's reports. What you do with this tale, I care not. My task as a librarian is to collect and preserve and make the truth accessible to you; the rest, my dears, is entirely up to you.

Unlike some of his predecessors, Rumplestiltskin wasn't much of a talker. Neither boastful like Horace nor narcissistic like Valdof nor prone to pillow talk like Lovar the Lucky (self-named, a play on words of course; "Lovar"'s actual name was Clyde), Rumplestiltskin kept his secrets to himself from the very beginning. Perhaps it had to do with the human that he was before he became a Dark One. All Dark Ones are human in the beginning, and Rumplestiltskin was certainly not the first to be tricked into taking on the Dark Curse, but he _was_ the oldest, already into his forties (though not even he knew his exact age; peasants' births were seldom recorded in those days). And having been, as a human, the town coward all his life, he had kept his own company, sharing his confidences with only his wife Milah, until, it's said, that beauty ran out on him, and his son, Baelfire, who, it's said, also ran out on him. Too shy to speak to strangers, the child Rumplestiltskin grew up friendless, bullied by even his own brothers and sisters, until he had been sold to a weaver who was seeking an apprentice. When he married, it came as quite a surprise that he had managed to speak to a woman long enough to propose; that he had married such a beauty had causes ripples of shocked laughter throughout the land, until Milah's father exposed the truth: one of nine equally beautiful daughters in a pitifully impoverished family, Milah had married for money.

By that time—Rumplestiltskin was thought to be in his thirties then—the town coward had raised his economic status quite above his humble station, for Rumplestiltskin had two great talents: spinning very fine thread, so fine as to be unseen by the naked eye, and selling that thread. Though still painfully shy, and humble, he nevertheless took great pride in his work, the product of which he saw as something somehow apart from himself, something he couldn't and wouldn't take credit for; and since it wasn't his to begin with, he managed to find the nerve to value the thread at its true worth. And so, Milah's family found Rumple to be. . . a catch, if not a fine one. Why Rumple the shy would want to marry—to allow another into his home and his life—no one ever knew. The women in the village tended to believe he must have been lonely, while the men saw baser motives, but Rumple the shy never shared his reasons for anything he did, and Milah the mouthy never bothered to ask him.

She simply didn't care. Her interest in him waxed full only in that hour after his return from the market, when his pouch would contain coins and delicacies to eat and little gifts for her. It was probably after one especially lucrative Market Day that Baelfire was conceived, and one may speculate that other Market Days weren't as profitable, since Bae was an only child.

Sometime after Bae's conception—at least, everyone _assumed_ it was after Bae's conception—Rumple was conscripted into the Duke of the Flatland's less-than-mighty army, to fight in the First Ogre War. Of course, in those days, no one called it "the first"; they assumed it would be the only. So Rumple, despite his lameness and his fearfulness, marched off to war, and his total battle experience amounted to about an hour of hacking uselessly at an ogre's leg, until the ogre kicked Rumple fifty lengths down the field. He landed near a heavy wood, and thinking that a gift from the gods, took it gladly. When he returned, lamer and more fearful than ever, his commanders never bothered to come after him. Oh, but his neighbors did: lashing out him with tongue and fist whenever the mood to bully someone struck. He dragged himself back to his wife; he seemed to take some courage from learning that he now had a son. Why he remained in his village, where he must have known he would be victimized for the rest of his days, no one knows.

Rumors about Milah were tossed about from the very start and persisted right up until she blatantly made them fact: she was seen openly cavorting in a seaside tavern with a handsome pirate, and when the ship set sail so did she. Rumors flew then, from dock to tavern to village, that Rumple, assuming—so sadly naïve!—that she had been taken, confronted the pirate, only to learn that yes, Milah had been taken, but not in the sense Rumple believed. Bae mourned his mother—the villagers, taking pity on the child, conspired, without actually saying as much, with Rumple in perpetuating the lie that Milah had died. And so the boy and his father mourned, but not deeply and not long, for their lives were more serene without her.

But the Ogre War persisted another decade, and the Duke, having run out of men, even lame ones, to conscript, went after women, and finally, children. And then they came for Bae, and that's when, it's said, Rumplestiltskin found his courage. He killed the Dark One, Theodosius the Manipulator, and acquired the powers, the reputation—which he immediately began building upon—and the Dark Castle.

Some time therein, he lost his son. There were various rumors: some said he killed his son in a fit of rage when the brave lad defied him; some said he killed the boy by accident, in a spell that went awry; but others said that the boy ran away, and that Rumplestiltskin, overwhelmed with grief and anguish, vowed he would move heaven and earth and everything in between to find Bae again.

For once, a rumor is true.

Soon after moving into the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin began to study the books in his library. He began, of course, with the books of magic, but quickly realizing how limiting this practice was, he expanded his reading. It's said that he even bought, or more often, bargained for, books about love. Something that neither a Dark One nor a town coward would know much about.

After centuries of studying it in the abstract, love took form and walked into his life.

Perhaps because of the act he put on when he dealt with clients—the surprise appearance, the silly prance, the actor's stance, the madcap giggle—people assume Rumplestiltskin acted on instinct, made choices by whim, and indeed, that would seem a logical assumption in describing Belle's first encounter with him, for all those elements were present when he responded to her father's summons. She learned soon after, however, that almost everything Rumplestiltskin did was calculated, planned to tiniest detail, and as much as can be when dealing with humans, controlled. As she came to understand the nature of his work and the hidden character of the man-imp, she understood why. First and foremost, Rumplestiltskin labored under the pressure of time; he had a most urgent goal, and thus all his choices must support that goal. Secondly—and unknown to the public—, Rumplestiltskin in his human days had been much abused, from birth to adulthood, and so, despite the acquisition of powers beyond all imagining, Rumplestiltskin the imp remained a damaged child inside. Those who think superficially would call him a coward, but Belle, as she came to understand him, would more correctly term him _untrusting_. With plenty of reason.

So when he appeared in her father's shattered castle and threw down the gauntlet of his offer—the highest of his prices, a daughter's life in return for peace—it was after days of observation and thought; he didn't simply waltz in, look around, find no objects of interest and on whim, point to Belle. When he transported himself into that castle, he had assessed Maurice's holdings down to the last penny—not because he was seeking valuable objects he could trade for; he knew from the beginning his price would be Belle—no, he needed to know just how desperate Maurice was.

Rumplestiltskin had known for weeks he would take Belle. It just took him a while to admit it to himself. And then he had to admit what he wanted her for. Not to trade, as he claimed to himself; not to clean, as he claimed to Maurice; not to assist with his research, as Belle later hoped. He wanted Belle to help him remember how to feel. For he'd lived alone, with only brief moments of human contact, and all of those, business transactions, for two centuries; for two centuries he had lived as a non-human; and he had forgotten how to care. He would keep her just long enough to remember, for Bae's sake, then set her free. Her family would be forever grateful and in debt to him; the woman herself would add to the legend of the fearsome, unpredictable Dark One, who could be kind one moment, then spin on his heel and destroy an entire village simply because the mood had struck him.

Yes, a few weeks with a lady whose strength would hold her up under the experience. No danger that a real friendship or anything deeper would evolve between them; he was a Dark One inside and out; she would fear him, and if her fear lessened, she would still dread him.

The fact that Belle was able to tell me all this only serves to indicate the irony of the situation, for, of course, for him to have confessed this to her, he had to have come to trust her—and he could not have let down his guard sufficiently to trust her if he had not come to love her.

So the imp traded for the duchess, one life for many; he ended the Second Ogres War with no more effort that it took for him to giggle and pronounce it done; and with his magic, to impress and disorient her, he transported her to his castle, locked her into a dungeon, and waited for her to cry and plead, or tremble and whimper. Had she done either, he would have sent her home again immediately, determining her to be unsuitable for his purpose. But, duchess that she was, she answered him with indignation, and brave soul that she was, she demanded her release. She was tough enough for his experiment; he would keep her.

In the first weeks of her. . . employment, as she termed it when speaking to me, or imprisonment, as he called it to her face. . .in the Dark Castle, she learned her duties, though not her real purpose. He provoked her, he thought, just enough to keep her confused, sometimes showing patience and courtesy, sometimes coldness and reserve, and sometimes uncalled-for rage. It was all an act; he intended that when he sent her home, she would report that the Dark One was a creature beyond all reckoning. For all his forethought, however, the imp did not consider what an independent-thinking Belle might do.

To his amazement, she tried to understand him. The more he waved his hands in the air and huffed at her, the more she smiled at him. The more he wagged his finger in her face and warned her off, the closer she slid to him from her perch upon his dining table.

To his even greater amazement, he found he wanted to be understood. By her, at least. And eventually, when she pursued him around the dining table, he stopped running and let himself be caught. It seems he had already started to feel without being aware of it. It was only when she fell into his arms that he discovered he desired her.

And it was only many years later that he admitted he needed her.

A word, a phrase at a time, she began to uncover him. She pried—gently, yes, but persistently pried information, forcing him to acknowledge that he had been human once, though he refused to tell her how his transformation had come about. With every small question he half-answered, and with every question he left hanging in the shrinking distance between them, her feeling for him grew. So open and honest, so trusting, she shared her tales with him; he realized she wanted to share his life.

Oh, he needed that. A little sympathy, a little caring, a little. . . humanity. He couldn't help himself. He let her ask, and he asked, too. He let her touch, and he touched too, and their skin tingled where it made contact, and their breaths came a little shorter, their hearts beat a little faster. At night, in their narrow beds in opposite ends of the massive castle, they lay awake and wondered about each other, and later, they imagined what could be. They asked themselves if they were doing the right thing. They both knew they weren't doing the smart thing.

And then with a single question she knocked a chink in his armor: she asked about his son.

Well, he had brought her here to help him remember how to feel; she was fulfilling her purpose. In spades. He hid behind his hair and stared at the floor to keep from trembling as she got him to admit Bae's existence. When she began talking about love and mystery, he realized it was time for her to leave. He granted her her freedom and she took it, and they both thought that would be the end of their relationship: each would walk away, never to forget the other, but never to understand.

She left, perplexed and torn. But she met a woman on the road who changed the path Belle was on, and that made all the difference. Belle came running back, certain down to the marrow that she had the cure for his curse, and that once it was effected, once he had reverted to his natural state, which she believed to be gentle and kind, they could be together. Had she only known, had he only told her, that when he used the word _lost_ to describe his son, he meant it literally—had she known Bae still lived but in another world, inaccessible to his father, everything would have been different. But it all came down to his untrusting nature. He hadn't shared his secret, for fear that when he released her, she would share it with others, and his enemies would now know how to thwart him, or worse, bring him to his knees. So assuming _lost_ meant _dead_, she assumed he would welcome the end of his curse, and she took That Woman's advice. She ran back to the castle and kissed the Dark One.

In a rage he tossed her back into the dungeon. In a rage he broke all that could be broken in the Great Hall upstairs: in the emptiness of the castle, she could hear the glass and china shatter. She listened in shock, confusion, and when the shattering ended and the heavy doors slammed, she cried in bitter disappointment that their future together was lost, and then she cried in shame that her naiveté had caused this. She came to understand then why he distrusted.

Night fell and the dungeon darkened. She had no food, no water, no warmth and no answers, and finally, no tears left. But she still had faith in what she felt for him, and what she was certain he felt for her, and despite everything, she still had trust, just a little more caution about where to place it.

And so in the darkness she reached out, and in her faith and her trust, changed the path they were on once again.

She rose, brushed the straw from her skirts, grasped the bars on the little windows and glared at the moon. She was a duchess, and more importantly, a woman in love, and that gave her the right to fight back. She lifted her chin and shouted at the moon: "Reul Ghorm! Reul Ghorm!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Wherein the Reul Ghorm Answers

It was a commonly known fact that just as Rumplestiltskin the Dealer couldn't resist an opportunity to bargain, his counterpart the Reul Ghorm couldn't resist a heartfelt plea for help. And Belle's plea was most certainly from the heart.

The Reul Ghorm was not unknown to Belle; her father had approached the Blue Fairy first before summoning the Dark One, but Blue, whose magic held no sway over the underworld's denizens, could not stop ogres, the spawn of giants and demons. Belle herself, as a small child, had called upon the Blue Fairy, asking her to bring her mother back from Master Death, but the answer then too had been no. So for Belle to turn to this same dubious source of aid showed just how desperate she felt the situation had become, and upon receiving the call, the Reul Ghorm felt an obligation to help, since she had failed Belle twice already.

It was, however, with reluctance that Blue made her appearance, for this was the Dark Castle, and no one could enter without the castle itself warning the owner—and everyone knew Rumplestiltskin hated fairies.

Not despised, not loathed: _hated_. Hated beyond reason. Hated unto death. And however hard the fairies tried to project a public image of goodness and light, they hated him right back, just as deeply. He'd killed some of their own, and they would have taken revenge—they would have called it justice—if there were a way to do so without bringing the Dark Curse upon themselves. At one point they even discussed sharing with another human the dreadful secret of how to kill him, in the expectation that any replacement for Rumplestiltskin would not bear his grudge against fairies, but in the end, they couldn't do it. Not because they were too good to trick a human or instigate an assassination, but because that would violate cosmic law, and they shuddered to imagine the punishment, for the crime would be considered treason against the natural order.

You see, contrary to what both parties would have you believe, Rumplestiltskin and the fairies are not the greatest power, nor the highest; there are ones greater, the ones who created them both, the ones who released magic upon the earth and allows it to remain. The ones who create life and take back again—and who decided that death will be inviolable. The ones who created love in all its forms and gave it to man as his strength, his comfort—and the ones who created evil, so that man would always have a choice. The ones who created and enforced the laws of the universe. And yes, there are laws that control even evil; even the Dark One must answer to those laws.

So as soon as Belle called, Blue appeared, fluttering her wings and wringing her hands nervously. "We must speak quickly, Belle; he'll know I'm here," she whispered. She held up a finger in caution: "Be aware, he can hear us."

Belle whispered too. "Reul Ghorm, I beg your help. I am—"

The dungeon door flew open and Rumplestiltskin swept in, teeth bared, eyes flashing. "How dare you?" He reached out to grab the Blue Fairy, but she vanished and reappeared in the highest corner, well out of his reach. That did not, however, render her safe, and she knew it: he could easily call upon the castle's magic to imprison her or evict her. "How dare you enter my home, without my permission?"

"I was summoned," Blue argued, and of course he knew as well as she that this was one of the laws she was required to obey.

"I asked her here." Belle thrust herself between the two, as if that would make any difference. "Your complaint is with me, not her. But hear me out first, Rumplestiltskin; you owe me that much."

"You betray me, Belle!" His voice shook with rage and his hands shook with magic pushing to be released. "This is the Reul Ghorm! My mortal enemy! It's because of her that Bae—" and then he clamped his mouth shut.

"That Bae what?" Belle grasped his shaking hands, tried to open his clenched fists, but he pulled away. "What happened to Bae?"

"He's gone." That's all Rumple would offer; Belle could see it pained him to admit this much.

"Safe from the Dark One." Blue turned up her nose. "_He_ came to _me_. He asked my help—as you have, Belle. He feared his own father."

"He didn't fear me!" Rumplestiltskin shouted. "He feared _for_ me." It was Belle he was trying to convince, of course; the Reul Ghorm's opinion meant nothing to him.

Blue ignored him, turning to Belle. "I sent Baelfire to a safe place where the Dark One can't reach him. I can send you to safety, too."

"I don't want to leave," Belle insisted, then informed Rumplestiltskin of the same. "I don't want to leave, Rumple; don't drive me away. I love you, and I think you love me too."

His mouth opened and closed. In the presence of his enemy he feared to reveal such a huge weakness as he thought love to be, but in the presence of his true love, he couldn't lie. The best he could do was to remain silent.

But Belle could be just as stubborn as he, even in those days. She stood there between two powerful mages, just a human, words her only weapon, yet she stood them both down. "I love you, Rumplestiltskin; even if you drive me away, I always will. Do you love me?"

His mouth remained clamped shut, but he slowly nodded.

"Do you want me to stay?"

He tried to change the question around. "For your own sake, Belle, you have to leave."

Belle wouldn't let him slip out of the question. "Don't be guessing what's good for me; I'll decide that. Do _you_ _want_ me to stay?"

The blood drained from his face as he whispered, "I'll hurt you if you do."

"Will you use your magic against me?" Belle persisted. "Will you strike me? Is that what you did to Bae?"

He looked horrified. "No, never."

"Then why did the Blue Fairy send Bae away? And why do you say you'll hurt me?"

"I am the Dark One, Belle. That's not just a name. I destroy. I _kill_. It's what the Dark One was created for. For you to witness that—you will hate me in the end." He stepped forward and took her hands in his claws. "Every waking moment, you will dread what I might do to the innocent and the corrupt alike, because the evil in me is unpredictable and sometimes out of my control. Bae witnessed that, and it broke his heart. If you leave now, before our lives become entangled, your heart will be spared, and I can be at peace, knowing there's one I cared for who hasn't been destroyed by contact with the Dark One."

She read his eyes, those reptilian eyes that were both large with innocence and frighteningly alien, and through them she read his soul. "You want me here. You love me. You wouldn't be telling me this if you didn't love me." It wasn't a question; it was a challenge.

"Which is why I have to send you away."

"Why?" she whispered. "Why won't you let me break the curse, so we can be together?"

"I need my magic, Belle."

"Why?" she demanded. "Can't you see how it traps you? Can't you see it's destroying you?"

"I need it for Bae!" he shouted back. And then, his secret half-exposed to his mortal enemy, he gaped at the two women in horror.

The fairy fluttered a safe distance away. "It's true, then. You're creating the final curse." He pretended to ignore her, but a muscle in his cheek twitched and she knew she'd caught him. "You will wreck this entire land and destroy hundreds of happy lives, just so you can be taken to the Land without Magic." She clasped a hand to her mouth. "You are truly are the most evil creature that's ever been."

"I am a father!" he roared. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, fairy? You've never had a child. You've never loved."

"We love!" the fairy shouted back. "We love all life, even you, Dark One. Although we would destroy you, if the law allowed, we love you."

"_You_ never held your flesh and blood in your arms and rocked him after he woke screaming from a nightmare. _You_ have never dried your child's tears when he hurt himself. _You_ never prayed to every god that's ever existed to heal him when he was wracked with fever. And _you_ have never surrendered your soul to save your child from certain death. Until you do those things, Reul Ghorm, do not claim you love!"

Belle now understood, and her eyes welled with tears as she took his pain onto herself, and her heart swelled to overflowing with love for this man, now that she knew what he had done for his child. She wheeled on the fairy. "Take us to Bae. Take us, and Rumplestiltskin will no longer need his magic, I'll break his curse and we can be together."

"I can't, child," the fairy protested.

"Help us and the Dark One will be no more. Help us in the name of love."

"There is no magic left that can take you to that land." She crossed her arms and glared at Rumplestiltskin. "You should have gone with him."

"Casting blame won't change anything," Belle pointed out. "I refuse to believe that something so good, so right, as the reunion of a loving parent and child can't be done. The gods put this man together with that child. They meant for them to be together. And why would they create love between this man and me if they didn't mean for us to be together too? You said something about laws. Does that mean you have laws you must follow?"

"Yes, of course," the Reul Ghorm answered with an uncertain frown. She may have been the most powerful of all fairies, but she was beginning to realize Belle had a great power too: a quick mind that she was quite capable of expressing effectively. For you see, because her father the duke cared nothing for the position he had inherited, his wife did; she realized the duchy could not survive without a strong leader, and she had ruled from behind her husband's throne, with their infant daughter playing at her feet; and when her mother died, the teenage Belle became her father's guide. That strength was what had first piqued Rumplestiltskin's interest, and it would continue to arouse his curiosity for the rest of their days together.

"Who made those laws?"

"The gods."

"The same gods who created you?"

"Yes."

"And me and Baelfire and all other humans?"

"Yes."

"And Rumplestiltskin?"

"Only evil could beget the Dark One."

Belle slammed her open palm against the wall, startling the fairy. "I'm not talking about the Dark One! Who created Rumplestiltskin the man?"

"The gods."

Rumplestiltskin sniffed. "If so, they abandoned me immediately after."

Belle's eyes lit up; it was at this moment, she told me, that she found her path. "And who created love?"

"The gods."

"Is it true that there is one god who governs love, another who governs war, and so on?"

And now Rumplestiltskin forgot how angry he was at Belle for defying him, how insulted he was that the Blue Fairy so disrespected him as to enter his home without permission. He unclenched his claws and watched his beloved build an argument, and perhaps just a shadow of hope passed across his wretched soul.

"Yes, there is a god of love, a god of war, and so on," Blue was obliged to answer.

"What is the name of the god of love?"

Caught in the web of logic she was spinning, Rumplestiltskin—the master of names—felt obligated to answer. "She goes by many names: Aphrodite, Venus, Hathor, Freya. In our land, she is most often called Celestria."

"Is it she that you answer to?" Belle kept after Blue.

"Yes." Blue raised her face proudly. "We serve her by serving mankind."

"Then take me to her. Take me and Rumplestiltskin to her."

Even the Dark One raised his eyebrows at this request. Blue gasped. "Child, you can't be serious."

"Why not?" Belle demanded. "She is the goddess of love, we are lovers; that makes us beneficiaries of her benevolence, does it not? Why would she not want to see us?"

"No human sees the gods. It just. . . isn't done any more."

"Ah ha!" Belle waved an accusatory finger. "But it _was_ done, in the past! What reason would prohibit it from being done again?"

"There was a time when the gods would come here to. . . socialize with humans."

Rumple snorted. "Is that what you fairies call it—'socializing'?"

Blue made a mouth at him but continued her explanation to Belle. "But that was long ago. They determined that fraternization leads to familiarity, and familiarity leads to contempt, so they distanced themselves, and they created us, to serve mankind in their stead."

"'Us'? Fairies?" Belle wondered.

Rumple growled, "Tell the truth, fairy."

"I always tell the truth!" the fairy snapped. "Yes, Belle, the gods created fairies to serve mankind—and they created other magical beings for that purpose as well."

"Such as?" Rumple prompted.

"Such as," Blue added painfully, "the Dark One. Because the gods believe man must always have a choice."

"And?" Rumple prompted again.

"And"—the fairy gnashed her teeth—"and because evil serves a purpose in this world." She added in a mutter, "Though what purpose, is beyond me."

"Oh, I'm sure you can think of a few," Rumple sneered, beginning to pace. "If there were no 'evil,' Belle, there would be no ambition, no longing, no passion, no desire: none of the qualities that made man crawl out of the cave and try to be more than a hairless ape. If not for acquisitiveness, nations wouldn't have been built. If not for anger, there would be no justice because man wouldn't fight for it. If not for pride, there would be no art, no architecture, no fashion. If not for greed, there would be no wealth, and without wealth, there would be no patronage. If not for destruction to clear away the outdated and the decaying, there would be no progress. So yes, the gods created 'evil'—to serve mankind, right alongside 'good.'"

"It would seem the gods value the Dark One's work as well as the fairies'," Belle mused, causing Rumple to laugh harshly and Blue to grunt. "I should think the gods would welcome a visit from him—and I should think the goddess of love would find it especially intriguing to speak to a human and a Dark One who have fallen in love. A rarity, is it not?"

"A rarity, indeed," Rumple said wryly.

Belle looked at him closely. "But a truth, is it not?"

He swallowed hard. "A truth."

The Blue Fairy floated a little closer, and she too studied Rumplestiltskin closely. "You. . . really do love her?"

"I fail to see what business it is of yours," he snarled, but then he glanced at Belle and softened his voice. "But yes, I love her."

"Is it True Love, Rumplestiltskin?" the fairy asked quietly. The three of them knew full well that the consequences, if indeed what the Dark One and the duchess felt for each other was True Love, would be life-changing for them and historic for humanity. For if Rumplestiltskin surrendered to love, his curse would be broken; the Dark One would cease to exist.

"The balance. . . ." the fairy murmured.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "The balance."

Belle told me later she was so caught up in her own her argument that she missed the small exchange between her beloved and his mortal enemy. Had she listened to it, she would have asked; and had she asked, she would have learned that the two magical beings—she who was tasked with fostering good on earth and he who was tasked with fostering evil—were quite aware that a union between a human and the Dark One could have consequences for all of mankind. As Rumplestiltskin had just proven, evil serves a purpose, and the Dark One must continue to exist if the balance of power were to be maintained. Blue and Rumple exchanged a glance that communicated the same thought: the Dark One must survive.

"It doesn't have to be me," Rumple pointed out.

"No, it doesn't have to be you," Blue agreed. "Probably better for me if it isn't."

Belle continued, "Take us to Celestria, Reul Ghorm; that is my wish, and I will continue to wish it loud and long until you fulfill it. And that is _all_ that I wish: you need only take us there and bring us back again, so that I can make my request to her. If you haven't the power to reunite father and child, she will, and I trust that, unlike you, she'll want to, for the sake of love."

"Is this what you want, Rumplestiltskin?" Blue asked. "If you had your son, would you truly give up your power?"

"For Baelfire and Belle, I would consider my magic a small price to pay." Rumplestiltskin the Dealer had made many a bold statement in his long career, but this one surpassed them all. I, who have worked for this man for thirty years, consider this his greatest moment, and I would defy anyone to hear of his decision and yet continue to call him a coward.

That is not to say Rumplestiltskin didn't relish his power. After a lifetime of abuse, even in front of Milah the scornful and Bae the impressionable, when power came to him, so suddenly and in such quantity, he had no middle ground to stand on: in a single knife thrust, he'd gone from being an object of ridicule to being the most powerful individual on the planet. I challenge you to imagine you could have done any better, in his situation—could have resisted the temptation to revenge yourself on your tormenters, and to create in all those around you a fear and a trembling that would keep them at bay? For let us not mince words: it's the fear that kept men from attempting to attack the Dark One and force him to do their bidding, or steal his power. Had he had not constructed this barrier of fear between himself and other men, the Dark Castle would have been littered with bloody bodies.

Yes, I defend him. No, I do not condone his random acts of violence—but I understand the causes, and I sympathize with the man who found, as many do, that power is a living thing, a parasite that eats its host. For Rumplestiltskin to see that, despite the tight hold the curse had on his soul, and for him to stand up to it is most remarkable. Even more remarkable, Rumplestiltskin managed to turn the power's own rules around on it in order to free himself; for those rules compel the Dark One to seek deals, and here Rumplestiltskin was offering the ultimate deal: the trade of the power itself for an opportunity to be with his loved ones.

Rumplestiltskin said once that he is a fan of True Love. I am, as you see, a fan of True Cleverness. Quite fond of moxie, too.

The Blue Fairy, impressed by neither cleverness nor courage, nonetheless realized the importance of this moment. Love left her no choice: by the laws of the gods, there must be a Dark One, or else fairies will cease to exist, and apparently, this Dark One would give up his power for love. Blue had to take this to a higher authority before it became too late, before Belle wore the Dark One down.

A problem remained, however: Blue did not know how to reach the goddess of love. And that's where I came in.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Wherein I Enter the Fray

"When she wishes to speak to me, she appears before me, or sends a messenger," Blue explained. "I do not go to her, and I certainly do not summon her."

"Well, I am not bound by fairy protocol," Belle said, going to the window to stare at the moon. "Celestria! Celestria!" She shouted over and over until her voice was raw, though Blue begged her to stop and Rumple shrugged that it was no use. And when she could shout no more, her lover took up the call for her, his booming demand bouncing off the walls so that it seemed the castle itself had joined in the call. But there was no response of any kind, not even the twinkling of a star, and Rumplestiltskin admitted to Belle later that he thought this moment confirmed what he had long suspected: that the gods had abandoned their minions, both the "good" and the "evil," and had left man to his own devices.

Lest you despair, dear reader, I assure you my tale will show this was not the case.

"Is there no spell by which we can conjure her, or transport ourselves to her?" Belle sank to the straw, her skirts billowing about her, and her lover sank down too beside her to hold her hand in mutual comfort. The Blue Fairy came to rest on the window ledge and, watching them from that higher vantage point, felt herself moved by their plight—until she remembered one of them was the capriciously destructive Dark One. Nevertheless, fairy law compelled Blue to share the only answer to their problem that she could think of.

Me.

"I remember reading in a book once, centuries ago, that there is a passageway, a locked door between the land of man and the land of the gods. Where the door is, I don't remember the book saying." The fairy scrunched her forehead in concentration.

"A name," Rumplestiltskin prompted. "The name of the region where the door can be found? The name of the book?"

Blue rested her chin on her fist. She remained silent for a painfully long time. Finally she offered all that she could: "Ianatora."

"Which name is that, the region or the book?"

"Neither. The Librarian." Blue drifted down to be at eye level with them, though she remained out of reach. "We call her the doorkeeper—all who would pass into our library must pass through her. She is very knowledgeable; it's said she has read every book in our library and knows every line like the lines on her palms. And she is wise, from her centuries of study. She is the oldest of all of us."

Though I was flattered by some of this description, as you can imagine, I did not see the necessity of bringing up the subject of my age. Perhaps I was too young to see the wisdom in that.

"Rumplestiltskin has a massive library," Belle commented. "Perhaps the book can be found here, if she can help you recall the title."

"When you say 'all of us,' fairy, to whom do you refer?" Rumple queried. "All magical beings? All sentient beings?" His lips curled back. "Or all fairies?"

Blue admitted, "Ianatora is a fairy."

"Thought so!"

"But Rumple, if she can help us, you'll let her into your library, won't you?" When Belle's voice fills with honey, as it did at this moment, few can resist her, but Rumple tried.

"Darling one, she's a _fairy_," he protested, as if that alone should be enough.

"But she's a Librarian," Belle answered—and that indeed should be enough. But for good measure, she added, "She may be the only way we can reach Bae."

In annoyance, Rumplestiltskin kicked at a mound of straw, but the honey had seeped into his ears and sweetened his disposition. "She may enter—the library only, and just long enough to find the book."

A small decision, you may think, but imagine granting access to your home to your child's kidnapper's employee, for to Rumplestiltskin, the Reul Ghorm was just short of being a kidnapper, and by extension, I was no better. I understood this even before I responded to Blue's call—and I didn't blame him a bit. Not of all us, you see, are in perfect agreement with our queen, and age seems to free up the tongue to express what the mind or the heart declares true.

Even as she summoned me, Blue knew that in her argument with Rumplestiltskin as it concerned Bae, I sided with the father. I had told her as much at the time: rather than simply handing Bae the bean and fluttering away, she should have spoken to Rumplestiltskin first. Though she despised him even then, she owed her client that much, for Bae was just a boy, and his decisions, like other children's, were rash. Had Blue insisted on speaking to Rumplestiltskin before granting Bae's request, she could have given the two of them the information they needed to make a carefully thought-out choice—together. Instead, she left this choice—a decision, mind you, that changed history; for if Blue hadn't given Bae the bean, there would have been no Evil Queen, no Final Curse—she left this choice to a fourteen-year-old. To my mind, this decision was _evil_. But then, I am a Librarian: full disclosure is a cornerstone of my business. Perhaps you, like Blue, would argue that giving information to the Dark One was like singing to the ocean: a waste of breath. I cannot see it that way. My Calling will not permit me to do otherwise than to provide complete and honest information, to the best of my ability; whether my client uses that information, or uses it wisely, I have no control over that and so I care not.

No, that's quite true. In this case, I cared very much, and I said as much. So my queen and I were at odds, and we would become even more so after I'd come to work for Rumplestiltskin.

A strange thing to say, even now: I came to work for Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin the secretive, the recluse, the untrusting, permitted me into his library and his home. Me, the uncoverer, the discloser. The fairy.

I came. How could I not? A Librarian would be a fool to refuse such an opportunity: full access to the largest, most profound library in all the land. And I, being a fairy, could only feel a compulsion to help Belle and to serve love; and I, being a _rebellious_ fairy, could only feel a compulsion to seek justice for Rumplestiltskin. Even if it did mean the entire cosmos would be thrown off-balance. I am a Librarian: I provide information. Knowledge is my Master, and he demands that I give my all to those who seek him. I leave it to the gods to worry about balance. Tell me, would you have done any different?

And so I appeared, floating mid-air beside my queen, and in the very currents of the air I could feel hatred; the Dark Castle crouched like a trained tiger awaiting a signal from its master to attack me. But from Belle I felt gratitude and hope, and in her smile I saw welcome, in her eyes I saw that which thrills a Librarian like nothing else: a seeker! She merely greeted me and offered her hand for me to shake; I needed no other encouragement from her; I was ready to work for her, tirelessly and diligently, until together we found the answer to her question.

And then she introduced me to him. He refused to shake my hand; he wrinkled his nose as if my dress were made of rotted banana peels and my hair had been washed in garlic. I knew the reason he abhorred us so, and I knew that once he came to see I was a fairy only skin-deep but a Librarian down to the marrow, he would judge me for myself, not my race. He glared at me with his snake eyes, and his magic rose to the surface of his gold skin, ready to serve him if he should decide to attack me. It made the air between us crackle and my own magic burned to be released. But as he glared at me something shifted in his mind, and he blinked, and his eyes appeared somehow more human, and his magic retreated, as mine did in response. Perhaps it had something to do with my Librarian's bun, or my bifocals, or the quill tucked behind my ear, or the book I held in my hand (a biography of Horace the Muscle Bound—a scant volume, just a little light reading before bed). He said nothing, just kept holding Belle's hand, as Blue explained the situation and my assignment—though she needn't have—by my calling I could do no other than to work on the question presented to me, and to keep working until I had an answer or had exhausted all resources at my disposal. And that's what I was to do: remain in the Dark Castle until the answer was found.

It was my favorite of all work situations: clients who really cared about the information and who loved books as I do, and even better, knew how to use them; a clear, specific question—and one I didn't already know the answer to—a new question, one I had never researched before.

Blue said something about my checking in periodically so she'd know I was all right. What a foolish thing to say, I thought: you need only look at my clients to see how deeply they care about the success of this venture. They would sooner tear down the Dark Castle with their bare hands than to allow harm to befall me, or anything to interfere with my work. They would make certain I had all I needed. Blue left with my mumbled farewell, and I turned to Belle, for I could see that though the books belonged to him, she would be my primary partner in this work; it would be some time before he trusted me enough to work alongside me. But that day would come, I had no doubt: his love for Bae would make it so, as soon as he came to realize I had come not as a fairy but as a Librarian: my Calling would not permit me to sabotage his efforts or betray his secrets. In fact, if he asked me for assistance in researching the Final Curse, I would be obliged to aid him to the best of my ability; that is the law for Librarians, and for me it supercedes the laws for fairies.

"I'll take you to the library," Rumplestiltskin offered. Belle, of course, could have done so just as easily; I understood he felt the need to keep an eye on me and to lay down the rules of the house. I took no offense; as I said, I was certain he would come to trust me someday. Rather than using magic to transport us—for even the most mundane and least taxing use of magic has, nonetheless, a price, however small—he led us from the dungeon, up a long, winding staircase, which, though dimly lit, proved surprisingly clean: I learned later that Belle spent many hours scrubbing the many staircases in the castle, even those that saw little use. Though a duchess, Belle craved meaningful work, and if her work could not be meaningful, at least it should be productive; and she had taken it to heart when in the early days of her employment Rumplestiltskin had named cleaning as one of her duties.

He took a torch from the wall and led us up four flights; at each landing I glanced about, but found all the rooms shut. "All rooms but four are closed to you, fairy," he instructed me. "You may freely enter the Great Hall, the kitchen, and the library, and you will have a bedchamber of your choosing. But do not attempt to enter any other without my permission, or Belle's: the castle will not allow it." And then he stopped to glare at me: "Ask no questions about my work. And if you give me any cause to believe you are spying on me, I will send you back to Fairyland—after I pluck your wings one by one."

I glared right back at him, though my knees quivered. I could smell his power in every molecule of air in this castle, I could taste it on my tongue, and from the walls themselves the power dripped like invisible water, seeping up through my shoes and the hem of my skirts. His power tasted like a combination of ground red peppers, red onions, the blood of a freshly killed deer—it tasted _red_. And it smelled of burnt flesh and sulfur, as my sisters had warned me it would. Yet I would not allow him to drive me away: this was an opportunity like no other, to learn, and my curiosity would sublimate my fears. "I am here to answer Belle's question, nothing more. While I am here I will respect the rules of your house, just as I respect the rules of my profession: any information you choose to share with me, I will share with no other; I will do all I can to answer your question completely and honestly; and I will work diligently until the question has been answered or the resources have been exhausted. But I trust that this house and its master will respect those same principles. You will provide me access to any information I require, for I will only ask for information I need to do my work; you will treat me courteously, as you would any other professional whom you consult; and you will make no threats against me ever again, for you will accept my word, now and for all time, that I perceive you as my clients and I am here to serve, not to 'spy' upon you. Do we understand one another, Rumplestiltskin?"

He seemed on the verge of saying more—something rude, from the looks of it—but a warning glance from Belle changed his mind. "She's here to help us," Belle said. "It's only fair that we do the same."

"We have an understanding—Librarian." He turned and we continued our journey up the staircase.

For a castle, this one was surprisingly warm; I wondered if the imp's reptilian nature required a warm environment, but then, perhaps his reptilian appearance was merely superficial. At the fourth landing there was but one room. He came to two tall wooden doors with big iron rings instead of knobs. He pulled the doors open. Belle and I remained on the threshold until he snapped his fingers and light filled the room. He extinguished his torch, explaining, "Here I use magic for light and heat; I allow no fire."

I smiled at this; the man thought of the safety of his books. I realized it was only the books he was concerned for; the castle had all sorts of protective spells placed upon it, and one of them would have snuffed out any out-of-control fires before significant damage could be done to the building itself. In fact, there were so many spells seeped into the stone and the wood of this building that the castle's magic was interacting with my own, and I was developing a rash.

I forgot all about my itching the moment I crossed the threshold, Belle at my side. "My gods," I breathed, taking it all in—into my lungs, my skin, my gut—this big beautiful living thing, his library.

The dimensions of the room, I estimated to be 77 feet by 295 feet. I flew straight up as I counted the number of shelves stretching to the ceiling, some fifty feet high; I quickly realized I could not possibly count the books. In the presence of so many volumes, I got dizzy and lost count of the shelves.

Not all the library's holdings were books. There were stacks upon stacks of scrolls, in various degrees of decay; there were writing tablets. But the majority of the shelves were filled with modern books, less than two centuries old, I estimated. All called to me: some whispered (_I carry secrets of ancient dark magic; open me if you dare_); some shouted (_I will take you on thrilling adventures on the high seas!_); others spoke in dignified tones (_I am the account, complete and truthful, of the life of King George I_). The cacophony of their voices, in every language known to man and some languages known only to non-humans, filled my ears and unbalanced me, and I fell backwards, tumbling heels over head, until the Dark One flew up and caught me. When my feet touched the stone floor again, I crumpled.

"Are you ill, fairy?" he asked, bending over me. I couldn't tell whether he was concerned or pleased at the prospect; perhaps both.

Belle knelt beside me and patted my hands, bringing the circulation back. "Bring her some water, please," she instructed Rumplestiltskin; but he was not about to leave a fairy unsupervised in his castle, not yet anyway, so he snapped his fingers and produced a cup, which he gave me. I took a gulp, assuming it was water, but sputtered when I tasted instead a burning liquid. I took a careful sip: grape brandy, and quite tasty too. I sipped again, looking over Belle's head to my host, and through my smile I promised I would not tell on him, that he had disobeyed Belle slightly. He understood and his magic spoke to mine: "Spirits are better in cases of shock." I drained the cup and he conjured it away before Belle could catch on.

Poor Rumplestiltskin would be in for a surprise later on, when he discovered his innocent Belle enjoyed a nip now and then.

"I am well, thank you," I informed them. "It's just"—I waved my hand to indicate the library.

"Yes, that's how I felt when I first saw it," Belle giggled.

I pulled my head back as far as it would go, and I still could not see the end of the books. "All the information in the world is here. Can you feel it, Belle? Thousands upon thousands of people, from the beginning of recorded time, talking to us, sharing what they had learned. Information from all the lands and all the ages. This is a holy place."

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, but Belle felt what I did. "Then it's here, the knowledge that will show us how to find Bae."

"It's not knowledge yet, Belle, not until we collect the information, understand it and put it to use." I turned to the library's owner. "How many volumes?"

The imp shrugged.

I stood, brushing myself off, and walked to the nearest shelf to peer at the books. I studied their arrangement for quite some time, but no organizational system known to me had been used here, so I gave up and asked. "How have you cataloged them?"

He shrugged again.

Perhaps the problem was my terminology. "How are they arranged? It seems not by title, by writer, by subject; your pattern is unfamiliar to me."

"No pattern," Belle admitted.

"Not quite so," Rumple corrected. He pointed to the center of the west wall. "The books of magic are over there." He pointed to the shelves nearest the fireplace. "Flora and fauna."

"And the rest?"

"Well, _those_ are in order too: random order."

"How do you find the books you're looking for?"

"The books I use in my work are in an order. The rest, I used but once and so, I didn't trouble to arrange them."

I began to dread the work ahead of me. By nature I am more of a researcher than a cataloger, but until its books are organized in some sort of system, a library is not ready for use; research in a room this size would be impossible. I studied the books again, but still could not discern a system. My heart sank: this was a place of chaotic beauty. Unless the answer to Belle's question lay in books about magic, plants or animals, we had a great deal of arranging to do.

"Are the books you do use indexed?" I asked.

"And that is?"

"A list of the contents of each book. Suppose you wanted to know, say, in which climes leopard's bane grows. Which book would you look in?"

"The one that has the answer, of course," he smirked. He extracted a volume from a shelf. "This one, page 403."

Belle explained, "Rumplestiltskin has a powerful memory. He recalls whatever he's read."

"Ah. Then we needn't bother with the books he's read; we only have to concentrate on those he hasn't. How many would that be, Rumplestiltskin?"

He squinted as he estimated. "About 7,500."

I estimated. "About 92,500 books to go, then." I drew my hand down across my body, changing into my work clothes—brown trousers and a brown blouse to hide the dust, and both with deep pockets for my quills and tablets. And I transformed myself to human size and hid my wings so that my clients would feel more at ease around me, though I had no illusion that Rumplestiltskin would forget my race. "I shall require some assistance. Have you any mice running about?"

* * *

One might think our initial task would be relatively simple, that we needed only to skim the covers of the books that Rumplestiltskin had not read—those he had, he used his magic to transfer to another room, out of our way—and search for those books whose subject was the gods, or specifically Celestria. One might think—but one would be dead wrong. For no matter how well organized a library may be, a writer's mind is another thing altogether, often more like an ocean than a stream, taking your little sailboat first in one direction, then capriciously tossing it in another, perhaps for just a moment, perhaps for the remainder of the journey. You may think, in chapter one, your writer is navigating you toward calm, deep waters of speculation about the causes of some historical event, let us say, only to find in chapter two he's drowning you in a tidal wave of political intrigue.

And information is a dense spider web in which it is easy to become ensnared, even lost. This is why we Librarians were created, why we exist and always will: we have the patience to follow each radial away from the center, see where it goes and identify it before coming back to the center. Thus we can tell you—without requiring a magical memory—which topics are covered by which books, and where in our collections you will find those books. And by comparing webs, we can tell you which ones are fresh and which are cobwebs, should the recency of a piece of information matter to you (and if you're uncertain, we can advise you upon which subjects recency should matter).

And so, no, Belle and I could not simply glance at each cover until we found a book about Celestria—though if we had tried, it would have taken months in this massive collection. Would that it had been so easy, but I have learned that oftentimes, the simplest question is the most difficult to find an answer to. Nor would I have been content, if it had been that easy: I had ulterior motives for this library, already brewing in my sneaky little mind, as you shall see later; I justified it by calling it a humanitarian mission.

And so Belle and I went down into the dungeon and trapped a dozen mice. When we caught the first, Belle smiled weakly, informing me that for the first week of her employment, the dungeon had been her bedchamber; she felt a little queasy to learn she had unwittingly shared her bed with a mouse. I did not inform her then that there's never such a thing as _a _mouse; she figured that out in the next hour when we caught eleven more.

And then she fainted. Rumplestiltskin brought the brandy.

* * *

We dropped the mice by their tails into a small cage that Rumple used for the same purpose (he often tested new potions and spells on mice) and we carried them to the library. One by one we took them from the cage—I dragged them out by their tails, but then Belle had to hold each one while I enchanted it, transforming it into a—well, I guess I can't very well call it a man, since it hadn't been created a human. Let's call my enchanted mice "indexers," since that was their function. And index they did, once taught how; they worked day and night, skimming page after page, volume after volume, and developing a list of contents for each book. They got pretty good at it, too; the only problem was, they still had the lifespan of mice, so funerals were frequent and new mice had to be brought in, enchanted and trained on a daily basis. We usually did this right after breakfast.

After a book was indexed, Belle or I cataloged it. We used the system I had developed for the fairies' library, though I had to expand it to accommodate this much larger collection. Each book was labeled on its spine with a code: first a letter than indicated its general subject, then a number to indicate its specific topic. That way, all the books pertaining to a subject could be shelved in the same area, and all the books relating to a topic would appear side by side. We recorded each book in three master lists: by its code, by its title, and by its writer, if known.

Whenever an indexer came across mention of the goddess of love by any of her names, or mention of any gate or door or path leading to the home of the gods, or any geographical or astronomic description relating to the home of the gods, Belle and I were called immediately. We found we complemented each other well as researchers: having grown up near the sea, she knew quite a lot about the oceans and the stars; I knew the mountains and the forests, their terrains and the creatures that lived therein. Oftentimes, using historical star charts and topographical maps and other tools, we could pinpoint unnamed locations mentioned in the books.

This work took five years.

Belle and I worried, in the beginning, that Rumplestiltskin would grow impatient and angry with the time our work was taking. We began to understand the depth of his patience, however, when he confessed to us that Bae's exodus had occurred two hundred and sixty years before, and that he had labored every day since then to find a path that would bring them together. It had taken him nearly a century to find the first three elements for the curse he was developing. He thought nothing of devoting a full year just to put a deal together that would bring him a single book or a single ingredient for the curse.

I've heard him referred to as "the Crocodile," no doubt for his scaly skin, reptilian eyes and dangerous smile, but I found him to be more like a spider, devoting his lifetime to constructing his meandering, elaborate scheme. Although, come to think about it, does the word _lifetime_ have any application for the immortal Dark One?

Suffice it to say, his patience far, far exceeded ours: he seemed to have as much of it as he had gold. It was we who grew angry, irritable, exhausted; we who needed fortification. Sometimes we found it in humor, sometimes in confidences, and once in a great while, I admit, we found it in a drop of brandy or a box of sweets that Rumplestiltskin would bring in from his travels. In short, we found renewal of our spirits in our burgeoning friendship.

There. I said it. I, a fairy, befriended a human. Not against the laws, but bad form nonetheless, my sisters would say. How can we judge them if we like them? And we can't steer them away from evil and toward good if we can't judge them. Worse, I had not just befriended a human: I had befriended a human who, if our research proved fruitful, would become Rumplestiltskin's wife. This I had no illusions about: even if his curse were broken, Rumplestiltskin would remain an enemy of my people. We hated the Dark One, all right, but we hated Rumplestiltskin more.

But Rumplestiltskin's woman was not Rumplestiltskin. She took an immediate liking to most people, and would retract her good opinion only after an individual proved irredeemable (clearly she thought this not the case with her beloved). She cared not for what she called "the externals" but rather examined the character of a person before judging him, and never objected to being proven wrong if she judged unfairly. And because she was so open-hearted and generous, I began to look at her beloved in a different way, seeking to understand what she saw in him that most did not.

There was, as I mentioned, his long patience, his meticulousness, and his work ethic. These earned my respect, and I believe he saw these same qualities in me, for when he would drop in to the library to see how our work progressed, he would nod approval, and sometimes a word of praise would slip out, before he remembered he was talking to a fairy. And one afternoon, about six months into our work, he caused me to go speechless when he thanked me for putting his library in order, for my system had enabled him to find quickly a book that answered a question relating to the work he was doing in his lab. Never mind the intended product of that work; I put that out of my thoughts and accepted his gracious and well-phrased thanks.

I do so enjoy a well-turned phrase, and his natural talent with words had, after centuries of negotiation and salesmanship, gained a high polish. As I came to feel more at ease around him, I would tease him that he should write books, or least poetry; he would gasp in mock shock and query, "And what sort of poetry should I write, dearie? Who would buy a book of love poems written by the Dark One?"

He invited me then to join him and Belle at the dinner table, to become a part of their ritual of breaking bread together. He never joined us for breakfast—he slept little and was usually shut in his lab long before the sun rose—but if he was home he always dined with Belle, and eventually, they included me in the evening meal. I felt an intruder at first, invading their privacy: they had so little time alone together as it was. But neither of them did anything to make me feel that way; they included me in their conversations, even their private jokes, and eventually Belle confessed that they needed me as a chaperone, to help them resist temptation. I understood the importance of that role: they weren't simply concerned about protecting Belle's maidenly virtue; they feared the possibility of breaking Rumplestiltskin's curse before Bae could be found, through either her method or his.

So as often happens with humans, I'm told, I the chaperone became a valued member of the household, as if I were a trusted friend. As if I were. . . family.

Fairies have no family. We are created, not born, and though we refer to each other as "sister," we are not kin by blood, and because we lack the full range of emotions that humans have—as Rumplestiltskin so eloquently pointed out when he reminded Blue of her childlessness—we have no strong ties between us. Loyalty, yes; friendship, yes; but our love is an abstract, rather objective love, incapable of anger and hurt, but also incapable of depth of feeling. We are creatures of compassion but not passion.

What you are incapable of feeling, you will never miss, wouldn't you think? Until someone includes you in their family.

In those years, I sometimes forgot I was working for the Dark One, and I know for certain Belle quickly forgot I was her beloved's sworn enemy. But though he made me welcome in his home and laughed with me and shared some of the secrets of his work with me, I believe Rumplestiltskin always saw a fairy when he looked at me. He came to know who I was, but he never forgot what I was. The best I could hope for was to be forgiven.

When he found I had no compunction against researching information relating to the curse he was building—for I have told you, the laws we Librarians follow require us to answer all questions to the best of our ability, regardless of how the information may be used—he began bringing questions to me. For me, it became a race against time, whether Belle and I would find the answer to her question before he completed the Final Curse.

The reference work I did for him gave me insight into how his mind worked; though methodical and practical, the mind of scientist, it was also the mind of an artist, prone to flights of fancy, leaps of logic. As I watched him work, I had no doubt that if a thing were possible to do, he could figure out how to do it—if his heart didn't betray him first. For he was also prone to deep discouragement, even bouts of depression, that would take him away from his work for weeks, send him wandering in deserts or forests, unable to talk, unwilling to forgive himself for small failures.

I saw that change, however. During the five years of our cataloging project, I saw him very gradually, in the smallest of ways, begin to reach out, at first under Belle's insistence. I would find them huddled beside the fireplace in the Great Hall, chairs pressed close together, holding hands, she leaning towards him, talking earnestly, he hiding behind his hair. But as one year flowed into the next, subtle changes informed me that he had come to depend upon her, when depression overcame him; he would sit then across from her so he could look at her, and he would be the one doing the talking; or he would draw her into his lap and sit in silence with her head resting on his shoulder and his cheek pressed against her hair.

Yes, the burning kisses and yearning sighs described in books are love, human love, but so is this: the silent moments, holding hands beside the fire, taking and giving comfort. We fairies will never know either kind of love.

What you are incapable of feeling, you will never miss.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Wherein Our Long Search Begins

Five years had passed since I had come to work in the Dark Castle Library. The mice, Belle and I had finally completed our indexes and our catalog, an awesome task not only because of the sheer size of the library, but also because of the books themselves: many handwritten, some in advanced stages of decay (upon discovering the condition of these books, Rumplestiltskin graciously took a full week away from his own work to assist me in creating a book-preservation spell, which I am proud to say, continues to this day to protect the Dark Castle Library). And we counted no fewer than nine major languages, four modern, five ancient, which between the three of us and our various outside contacts we were able to translate sufficiently to determine whether a book would assist us in our search. Complicating the translation was the presence of colloquialisms and regionalisms, the lack of standardization in spelling, and poor educations of some of the writers. Even with our magic to help us, it was slow and often frustrating labor.

We had come across many, many references to Celestria, under her various names; then, as now, Love in all its forms was a heavily discussed topic, and writers had plenty to say about its creator. We found hymns, odes, ballads, dirges, laments; fables, parables and cautionary tales; dramatic plays and farcical comedies. Writers had much to say about what they thought or wished the goddess to be, but nothing to say about what she truly was—none had actually encountered her in the flesh. We learned a great deal about mankind from these books, but next to nothing about Celestria.

There remained only the scrolls, our last hope. We had delayed these: though between us Rumple and I could limpingly translate most of the ancient tongues of the magical lands, some of these scrolls were written in Old Urduran, whereas we could read only Middle Urduran; and the scrolls were fragile, prone to crumbling in our hands; the ink faded, blotted and smudged; and the penmanship and spelling atrocious. But having finished the books, we could delay this work no longer, and so at the start of our sixth year we began. As our resources dwindled, so too our hope.

On the evening after we had finished the last of the books, Belle broke out the port wine and we pretended to celebrate. Rumplestiltskin offered to conjure music, but in all honesty, Belle and I admitted we couldn't feel very celebratory. So we sat, as we did most nights, beside the fire and played Dou Di Zhu, but unlike most nights, we didn't talk much. We didn't even have the sanctuary of our favorite pastimes to retreat to: Belle and I had given up pleasure reading long ago, our eyes too strained to enjoy a good book, our minds too tired for storytelling. We drank our wine, played our game, and retired early.

We began afresh at sunrise, determined to cling to the last thread of hope, now contained in those mildewed scrolls. As Belle painstakingly copied each scroll, giving us copies we could more easily read and handle, Rumplestiltskin and I divided them according to their languages and set about the translations for the languages we knew. It would take days to finish a single page, as we often had to consult dictionaries and comparative works to find the correct interpretation of a term. During these long months, Rumplestiltskin set aside the work in his lab—the work I now knew was meant to produce a terrible curse that would destroy the Enchanted Forest and sweep its denizens to a lonely foreign land, where he thought Bae to have gone. The dim days of winter passed into a wet, cold spring, and then into summer: hunched over our tables, our heads filled with words, we recognized the season only by the fresh vegetables that Belle served at dinner. As we gathered around her dinner table in the evenings, we found that we clenched our spoons like quills and dipped them into soup bowls as if we were filling them with ink. We would begin our conversations in the languages we had spent the day immersed in, until a puzzled look from the other two would remind the speaker to return to the modern speech.

But we were getting closer, we thought. We were finding increasing numbers of references to all the gods, Celestria and her sometimes-lover the god of war being chief among them. And the references were becoming lengthier, more specific—more realistic. We talked excitedly about each new find.

And then a breakthrough. My hands shaking, I showed my translation to Rumplestiltskin for verification; I said nothing, wishing not to influence him unduly; but when he clamped his clawed hand to his mouth, I knew I was right. He tilted his head toward me but dared not take his eyes from the scroll, as if afraid the ink might suddenly vanish if he looked away. "Middle Urduran," he identified the language of the original, and then he settled down to read. At last he nodded. "I think you have it, Tori."

He never used Belle's nickname for me before. In his speech, I had progressed from "fairy" to "dearie" to finally "Ianatora"—he had granted me the courtesy and respect of perceiving me as an individual—and now, he was rewarding me, as Belle had from the start, with a nickname. As friends do. This was indeed a momentous day for me.

I would not have you take from this that things were always easy between us; on the contrary. In my first year in the Dark Castle, as I was learning my way around the Dark Castle, I would sometimes wander off the path he had prescribed for me; if he was at home, he would invariably catch me and accuse me of spying. As late as the third year in my stay, there was conflict: arguments over trivialities: some point of translation or some arrangement within the library that Rumplestiltskin didn't like, and, to my consternation, these disagreements would become shouting matches (yes, dearies, contrary to popular myth, Librarians _can_ shout). Belle would defend me, and he would quickly back down; and eventually he apologized and the accusations ended, so by the fourth year we had found a sort of peace.

Some days he was like dry tinder, awaiting only a tiny spark to flame up; other days, he sat for hours in his nearly empty bedchamber, immobilized by his dark moods; and still other days, he pranced and giggled like a madman, though this silliness was usually reserved for days upon which he was working a deal. Belle blamed the Dark One, not Rumplestiltskin, for the sudden snaps or sinkings; she thought of the Dark One as a separate entity, a living spirit that, like a leech, had attached itself to Rumplestiltskin's soul—and that, like a leech, could be extracted, if only the Dealer would allow it. During my stay, I read many theories about the Dark One, some written by Dark Ones themselves; in the final analysis, I concluded that none of them really knew exactly what had happened to them. I wondered if Rumplestiltskin the Scientist ever endeavored to make a study of his own curse, but I dared not raise the subject.

And yet there were days—an increasing number of them as the duration of my stay lengthened—when he could lose himself in discussion, and then his voice would become less nasal, less accented; his hands would quiet; and an observer could easily mistake him for a professor. He had read, over his long lifetime, a little in every subject, it seemed, and a great deal in many, and he remembered it all; and when he allowed himself to become absorbed in a subject, he could fascinate, facilitate and amuse. I treasured these days.

The breakthrough translation I showed Rumplestiltskin consisted of only three brief sentences, but it was the beginning of the end of our labors, or so we thought, for the sentences read thus:

"O Queen of Love, thou walkest among Men no more but rather sequester thyself in thy golden temple in a far away land, hidden from view. None may approach lest through thy doorkeeper. Grant me admittance, I beg of thee, keeper of the gate, ere I die of want of love."

In another hand and an older version of the language, the tale continued another seven pages. The ancient word for _door_ appeared again, and the word _road_, but most of the rest I could not translate, just a few simple verbs, the pronouns and prepositions.

Alas, nor could Rumplestiltskin. "I think this is the word for _horse_, but I'm not sure."

All else would have to wait. We had to seek help. We agreed to take our copies and go out into the world to find it, he to the many mages and traders of his acquaintance, I to the fairies—my sisters, who would celebrate with me the imminent victory that would prevent the Final Curse, that bring about the end of the Dark One, that would unite father and long-lost son.

Blue had claimed me to be wise. I had yet to see just how little I really knew when it comes to matters of the heart.

On the final day of summer, we bid each other farewell and good luck. Rumplestiltskin set out for the north, I for the east, both of us making haste on wings of magic, while Belle took the more traditional conveyance of a carriage to return to her duchy, with the intention of showing the scroll to the learned men there. The Dark Castle now was truly dark; even our indexers had gone, returning to their natural state and fleeing the strange estate in utter confusion. But the library would be safe: Rumplestiltskin's magic ensured that.

* * *

Until six years ago, I had spent all of my long life among my fairy sisters. Considering the work I had been created for, I served them and only them in their preparations to go out to serve mankind. One would think I would be delighted to return the place I should have considered home, and that my sisters would delight in my return, but the closer I flew to Fairyland, the stranger the air felt, and I longed to turn and make my way back to the Dark Castle, to be among my friends.

No welcome awaited me, though as soon as I entered the no-man's zone between the humans' territory and Fairyland, sentries alerted the entire community of my approach. The scent of their magic overwhelmed me: sickeningly sweet I found it, and it struck me as weak; it produced in me an irrational, though momentary, impulse to smash something, and then I remembered that must be the scent of my magic too. Perhaps this is how I had come across to Rumplestiltskin in those first days of my tenure in his castle: nauseatingly, irritatingly sweet. I remembered how he had wrinkled his nose, in those early days, when we crossed paths. I daresay he had found a way to overcome it since then, or perhaps my scent had changed.

When I came unto Blue's castle, guards stood aside to allow me to pass, but no one smiled or spoke. Blue's secretary wrinkled her nose as I approached her desk and announced myself. "Perhaps, sister, before you enter the throne room you'd like a bath and a change of clothes?"

I had half a mind to snap my fingers in her face dismissively. I had had a bath and a change of clothes only that morning. But glancing around, I saw that Blue's entourage faded back in my wake, a hard set to their delicate features. The secretary leaned forward and whispered behind her hand, "It's just that you smell like _them_."

"I'll have you know, sister, they bathe and wash their clothes daily," I hissed; for hot water is hard to come by in Fairyland, and so fairies traditionally wash once a week, and depend upon fragrance squeezed from flowers to stay fresh. Yet I knew to what the secretary referred; it had nothing to do with cleanliness and everything to do with race. "I want to see Blue."

The secretary became all business; she consulted her appointment book. "She can see you in an hour or two. Would you like to wait or make an appointment for tomorrow?"

"I'll wait." With a flounce I made myself comfortable on the couch. I crossed my legs and my arms. I could have, should have returned to my old library to pay my respects to my replacement (and spy on the damage she'd done in my place), but I was angry and defiant, and I wished to show these courtiers they had rattled me not a whit. I waited a hour, then two, swinging my leg, tapping my fingers, studying the scroll I'd brought; the secretary pointedly ignored me and passing courtiers failed to smile in recognition as they passed: two had the audacity to stage-whisper cutting remarks to each other. The words _corrupted_ and _traitor _were bandied about, as though my sojourn in the Dark Castle had been a choice, not a royal assignment. Well, from now on, it would be a choice.

All right, I was being hotheaded. Not like myself at all; maybe they had corrupted me just a little. Had I acquired passion from my time with the human and the imp? I rather fancied that notion.

When the secretary finally admitted me, I got right to the point, showed Blue the scroll and "respectfully requested" (with just a twinge of sarcasm in my voice; now _that _I had definitely acquired from my current companions) her permission to consult the polyglots in the community. Permission was granted and I was summarily dismissed. It seemed my presence caused Blue some discomfort, though she was the reason I'd gone to live in the Dark Castle.

I left with a curt farewell and made my way to the library—the library I had created, centuries ago. The library that my successor had changed. She'd not only moved things around; she'd changed the collection, shifted its purpose from education and erudition to entertainment, _shallow_ entertainment at that. A library must serve the interests of its users, yes, but at the cost of their needs? As I browsed the shelves, my scowl deepened, and so did that of my successor—who didn't even remember me, after the weeks I'd spent teaching her.

Maybe it was partly my fault. Maybe those cracks the courtiers had made about me set a chip on my shoulder, and my former sisters thought they'd do me the favor of knocking it off. But in truth, I think it had more to do with where I'd come from—whom I'd come from. I spent that evening going door to door to the homes of my learned sisters, showing them the scroll and asking their assistance in translation, only to receive polite (and sometimes brusque) refusals—not just refusals: outright dismissals, from those with whom I had spent many a happy hour, just six years ago, exchanging ideas, sharing our enthusiasms. One of my "sisters" went so far as to grasp my arm as she evicted me from her home (but politely, of course). "How could you live with _him_?" she hissed. "I'd rather die!"

"Actually, sister," I said over my shoulder, not bothering to grace her with a glance, "he's quite a learned man. His library rivals that of Alexandria, and I consider it an honor to work there."

"But he's _evil_!"

"Yes," I agreed, "but not hypocritical about it, unlike some."

Again and again, doors were closed—not slammed, which I almost would have preferred: the honesty of it would have seemed, ironically, more respectful. And let it _never_ be said that fairies do not lie; they do, even to their own kind; "I don't know that language," I was told by those I knew for a fact did.

At last, as the moon rose full over Fairyland, and my stomach ached—for no one had offered me so much as a cup of tea—an unthinkable thing between fairies—I snapped. "Are you dense, sister, or do you need to clean the dust out of your ears? Did you not hear me just moments ago tell you that if my work is successful, the Dark One has vowed to surrender his magic? Do you not realize that means there will be no Dark One ever again? How can you refuse to help me, when our most fervent wish is so close at hand? How can you claim to serve good and yet refuse an opportunity to break the Dark Curse now and forever?"

"Go away," the fairy barked at me. She was my last best hope: as one nearly as old as I, and much traveled among humans, she spoke more languages than any of us. I suppose I was rude and disrespectful in my frustration at her refusal, but even if I had dropped to my knees (a nearly impossible task at my age) and pleaded, I doubt her answer would have been any different. "Go away! I will not serve the Dark One under any circumstances, not even for you, Librarian!"

At least she had the sincerity to slam her door in my face.

I used my magic to eavesdrop on my sisters as they gossiped, proud in the righteousness of driving away the traitor. Perhaps some evil had rubbed off on me, but was my crime any worse than theirs?

I slept that night in a tree and ate the few dried up berries I was able to scrounge as my supper, and longed for Belle's fresh vegetables and soft, sweet bread, and her laugh, tinkling like her name, and Rumplestiltskin's jokes, sometimes slightly ribald but always witty.

I left the next morning, hungry and damp with dew, but more than anything, outraged. There could have been help here, but there would be none. But I was not ready to return to the empty Dark Castle. Rumplestiltskin had gone north; Belle, south. I went farther east to lands more ancient that Fairyland, in search of scholars.

* * *

We were gone more than a year. We communicated now and then through small enchanted mirrors, sharing news of progress and set-backs. I didn't tell them the full story of my reception in Fairyland: that would wait for some quiet night beside the fire, after we had completed our work. I wasn't yet ready to give Rumplestiltskin fodder for his fairy hatred. . . nor deal with my own.

I was in a city called Hi Ling, speaking to a librarian at a university there; I had taken human form, and so my colleague assumed I too worked for a university. I didn't disillusion him; that would only stir suspicion. It didn't really matter why I wanted his help: by the code of our profession, he was obliged to give it, and by the nature of our profession, he couldn't help but be curious about the document I carried. He was pondering the language skills of the professors he knew, was on the verge of recommending one or more to me, when a heat under my skin flared and my hands began to tingle. I sensed a shift in the air about me, followed by an electrical charge that pricked my skin like a hundred needles. It was his magic, summoning me, and I excused myself from my colleague, making up an excuse of a forgotten appointment and taking a card upon which he hastily scribbled a recommended name. I thanked him and made my way outside, where I hid in a stable and took Rumplestiltskin's call.

His image shimmered in the mirror, blinking in and out: an imminent storm was interfering with reception. Even with the strength of his great magic, in those days, transcontinental communication was spotty. "I have something, not a translation yet but instruction books written in Middle Glennish that teach advanced Old Urduran."

Old Urduran was the language of the scroll; Old and Middle Glennish were languages with which I was well acquainted: they were the original languages of the fairies.

"I'm going home," Rumplestiltskin said. "Can you return this afternoon?"

I went home.

I found Belle in the garden, planting the autumn vegetables; she had returned in the spring and spent all those months alone, by choice, she said; she found she was no longer welcome in her native land, and no one would even glance at her copy of the scroll. The nobles of her father's court had ordered their servants to turn her from their doors, she said; in town, her name was bandied about in taverns and brothels as if she were a common trollop. In a low tone, after assuring herself her beloved would not hear, she told me on the docks they had a new name for her: no longer Belle the Beauty, she was now known as the Dark Whore.

"When this is over," I said, "when Bae has been returned and Rumplestiltskin has been freed, let me send you to another land, where no has heard of the Dealer."

"I can bear it, whatever they call me, but for Bae's sake, I think you're right." She smiled, but painfully. "I'll begin laying down the argument tonight."

Rumplestiltskin was pacing in the Great Room, a book in one hand, the scroll in the other, and he kept glancing from one to the other as if the two documents might begin speaking to each other. Belle went to him and got him to stand still long enough for her to kiss his cheek. Without offering a greeting after our respective long journeys, he set the book and the scroll on the table, pulled out a chair and waved me into it. "Ready to work, Tori?" He conjured a pot of ink, a quill and a stack of clean paper. Belle, depending upon her own brand of magic, conjured a pot of tea.

I picked up the book and the quill, and my companions and the Dark Castle faded away as the writer began to teach me.

Belle brought me dinner: it went untouched. Rumplestiltskin lit the torches at sundown; I didn't hear his footsteps. I'm sure at some point they wandered off to bed, but I didn't notice.

Plates of food and pots of tea came and went and came again. More paper and ink and quills were brought; someone placed a cushion behind my back and set a shawl across my shoulders, so I suppose I must have been shivering. My body was fixed in a tall wooden chair in an enormous castle twenty miles from the nearest village, but my mind was out there somewhere in the cosmos, centuries away, in communion with the unnamed writers of the books Rumplestiltskin set before me. As soon as I finished one, he brought another. Fairies have greater endurance than humans; Librarians on a hunt have even greater endurance. I was a third of the way through the third book when the connection broke and I was left adrift in a pale darkness. I heard someone call my name but I couldn't think of a reason compelling enough to make the effort to answer. I couldn't think at all: that would require words, and I'd dropped all my words somewhere along the journey.

Light leaked into my darkness. My fingers tingled; my magic needed exercise. I lifted my head and found myself staring blearily into a pillow. A quilt covered me and it took more strength than I could muster to come out from under it. I let my head drop into the white fluffiness again.

When I awoke it was to aroma of oranges and fresh baked bread. I dragged myself from the bed and pattered off to the washroom, where the castle's magic prepared a bath for me, then I returned to enjoy the meal awaiting me on my nightstand. The bread came from Belle's skilled hands; the oranges, from a quick trip Rumplestiltskin made to a faraway land. He could have simply visited the nearest seaport, but he wanted to be sure the oranges were fresh. I dressed and returned to the Great Room and the books.

I let my magic do the talking, delivering the message throughout the castle and its grounds: "I've finished."

I hadn't yet voiced the last syllable when Rumplestiltskin appeared before me—in his nightshirt. "Sorry," I mumbled, and then I glanced out the long windows to see a waning moon. "Didn't mean to wake you."

We could hear Belle shouting as she clattered down the stairs—it took a while, as her room was on the third floor. "No matter." Rumplestiltskin's voice was thick with sleep, but his eyes were alert as he snatched the stack of papers from the table. As Belle skittered into the hall, he began to read aloud for her benefit.

_"In a time long gone and a place far away, there lived a great and noble king who had everything, and yet he had a hole in his heart that, as years passed, grew larger and pained him. He sent for healers from every nation, but with their herbs and their chants and their bleedings, still none could mend him. He sent for chemists from every nation, but with their powders and leeches still none could mend him. He sent for mighty mages, who cast all manner spells and gave him all manner of potions to drink, and yet none could mend him. At last he summoned the eldest and wisest man in the kingdom and sought his counsel._

_'O honored king, you have everything and yet you have nothing, because you have not love. Seek thou love, and in the finding of it the hole in your heart will be filled,' the wise man said._

_So the king had brought to him the loveliest maidens in his realm, commoners and noblewomen both, for he sought not power or money or land. They danced and sang for him and dined at his table, but none moved him, and the hole in his heart was not filled._

_So the king wandered far and wide to other realms. Kindly the people treated him, the kings of other realms greeting him as brother and offering him the best seat at their tables, the finest wines, the sweetest fruit, and they brought forth their daughters and the loveliest ladies in their realms, but still none moved him, and the hole in his heart was not filled._

_Years passed and the hole grew larger and gave the king great pain. Much gnashing of the teeth then, and many tears, for his people feared he would die. In distraction the fields went untended, the fruit withered on the vine, the milk soured. All suffered._

_The wise man the king sent for again. 'O honored king, seek thou the temple of love, and find within the goddess, for her powers are great and many and it is she alone who can mend your heart.'_

_'How find I this temple?' asked the king, and the wise man answered, 'There is a door between the land of the gods and the land of men. Find thou the door, and enter, and all will be revealed.'_

_So the king called for his horses and his knights, and he set out upon his journey. The trail was long and winding and he encountered strange wild beats that would maul and robbers that would steal, but with his great sword the king defeated them and continued on. At last in the distance he saw a hill, and on the hill he saw a door, and he knew this to be the door he sought, so he continued on._

_After many nights he stopped at a stream to rest, for the knights were sore tired. The king knelt beside the waters to drink, and in the water appeared the face of a lovely woman, who spoke unto him and said, 'What you think you need most, burdens you most. Lay it down for love.'_

_When the morning awoke the king remembered her words, and he lay down the chest of gold he carried, and his burden was lightened, and he rode on through the day. Yet when he stopped that night to rest, he looked to the hill and saw he was no closer than before, and the road was just as long. He knelt beside the river to drink, and in the water the lady again appeared, and again spoke unto him. 'What you think you need most, burdens you most. Lay it down for love.'_

_In the morning the king lay down his armor and the quivers of arrows and the scabbards of swords he carried, and his burden was lightened, and he rode on through the day. Yet when he stopped that night to rest, he looked to the hill and saw he was no closer than before, and the road was just as long. He knelt beside the river to drink, and in the water the lady again appeared, and again spoke unto him. 'What you think you need most, burdens you most. Lay it down for love.'_

_In the morning the king called his knights to his side and said, 'Return thou to the kingdom and defend it in my stead; I will journey alone.' And the knights bowed to him and turned their horses, and his burden was lightened, and he rode on through the day. Yet when he stopped that night to rest, he looked to the hill and saw he was no closer than before, and the road was just as long. He knelt beside the river to drink, and in the water the lady again appeared, and again spoke unto him. 'What you think you need most, burdens you most. Lay it down for love.'_

_In the morning the king lay down his crown and his scepter, and his burden was lightened, and he rode on through the day. Yet when he stopped that night to rest, he looked to the hill and saw he was no closer than before, and the road was just as long. He knelt beside the river to drink, and in the water the lady again appeared, and again spoke unto him. 'What you think you need most, burdens you most. Lay it down for love.'_

_In the morning the king lay down his life._

_And at that moment the road before him rose up, and when he stood he was standing on the hill and the door set before him. It opened to him and on the other side stood the lady of the river, who said unto him, 'Thou hast given all for love.' And she bid him enter, for she was the keeper of the door._

_He entered and was taken to a temple of ivory and marble, where he knelt and kissed the stone steps, and the keeper of the door took him in. Upon a throne sat she, Elska, and her robes were of fire and her hair of spun gold and her voice the song of the wind._

_The king knelt at her feet, and said, 'O goddess, Queen of Love, I pay thee tribute.'_

_'Ask thy question, and welcome,' she said._

_'O Great Queen, I seek love to fill the hole in my heart. I have traveled the world wide and still I have not love. Tell me, I beg of thee, where love can be found.'_

_'All are born to give it, and all are born to receive it,' she said. 'It lives everywhere.'_

_'But how can I acquire love?' the king asked._

_'Give it,' she said._

_'I have traveled the world wide, and the loveliest of women have been brought before me, and yet I have not love, and I die. To whom, then, must I give love?'_

_'To those thou art least willing to love.'"_

Rumplestiltskin paused for breath, and Belle came to him and took the pages, continuing, "_And the king bowed to the goddess of love and kissed her hand in gratitude, but still he did not understand. He mounted his horse and returned to the long road, and for a year he rode until he came again to his kingdom, which still withered from neglect. Wearily he sat upon his throne and thought._

_And then a disturbance at his gates arose and his guards brought in a man in rags and chains. They threw him at the king's feet, for he was a knight of a kingdom with whom they fought in war. They demanded of the king a beheading as a warning to all from that enemy kingdom, but the king thought and remembered the words of Elska the goddess, who said, 'To those thou art least willing to love.'_

_And the king showed mercy then, and he said, 'Give this man clothes from my wardrobe, and meat from my table, and place him in mine own chambers to rest, and when he has rested, give unto him my finest horse, so that he may leave if he choose, or stay if he choose, a honored guest at my court.'_

_And all was done as the king commanded, and when the knight had rested and prepared to return to his kingdom, the king brought him a sword of gold and ordered throughout the kingdom that no man touch him nor impede his journey. And as the knight mounted the king's steed, the sky above split open and the voice of the goddess was heard, 'Thou hast shown love to one thou art least willing to love. Love is thine and thou art healed.'_

_And the king looked down at his own breast and found it so, and the fields grew rich again, and the rivers flowed, and love came to abide in all the realm.'"_

Belle sighed and sat down beside me, and I poured her a tankard of mead, for our work was done.

And the rest was up to Rumplestiltskin.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Wherein Rumplestiltskin Comes to the Rescue

"Lovely fable," he said, and he tossed back his mead in gulps. "Now, what does it mean?"

"That's the thing about fables," Belle said. "The writer wants you to figure it out. It means whatever you want to take from it."

Rumplestiltskin sat down at my other side, his head in his hands. He glanced up at me. "Thank you, by the way. You are closest to the work; what do you think it means?"

"I could tell you, but my interpretation would apply only to me. Belle's right: you have to take from it what you need."

He poured himself another tankard and went to stand beside the fire, staring into the flames. Belle had learned long ago how to recognize his moods and how to know when her intervention would help and when she'd best leave him alone. She invited me to a game of chess, and by this I knew Rumplestiltskin was in one of the latter moods; he had retreated within himself, and it could be days before he emerged again. After perhaps an hour, he walked away, and we heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs.

"He's going to his room," Belle said. "He's figured out what the fable is saying to him; whatever it is, he can't accept it yet. But he will."

* * *

He remained shut away from us for nine days. Depression had taken him from us for days on end before, but never this long. Belle did fret as the seventh day came to a close: the food she delivered to his door three times a day went untouched, though he drank the tea. I encouraged her not to worry unduly: his magic still vibrated strongly throughout the castle; he was in good health, physically.

Late in the evening of the ninth day of his self-imposed exile, long after Belle and I had retired, the castle awoke me. I know of no other way to describe it: the temperature in the room dropped, disturbing my slumber, and when I reached for a quilt, it retreated from my reach. Sitting up in annoyance, I considered my options: whether to leave the room in search of a warmer one, or conjure my own quilt—sure to alert the master of the house and disturb his sleep—or put up a fight against the house magic. As I pondered, I heard Rumplestiltskin's voice, carried by his magic, speaking to me through mine. "Ianatora, I wish to speak with you."

Well, he was awake, and now so was I. With a tap of my wand, I changed from my nightclothes, lit a candle and made my way downstairs to the Great Hall. I found the imp sitting beside the fire in the chair Belle had claimed as her own (though its two companions matched perfectly, so I never understood the reason for her preference). He was staring into the fire as though watching a story unfold there, and he didn't look up as I approached. I sat in the empty chair nearest him and waited.

At last he said, without seeming to break his stare, "I've tried a hundred other interpretations, but I can't make them fit. There's only one that fits, and it's taken me nine days to accept it." He fell silent. I didn't prod; he had summoned me to ask a question, and it would come when he was ready.

"As a practitioner of magic yourself, I thought you could understand my dilemma."

I could guess then what interpretation he had come to, but he needed to phrase it for himself and say it aloud. "What does the fable mean to you?"

"I have to give up my magic." His voice was so quiet it could barely be heard above the pops and crackles of the fire. "I think that's what it means. I have to give up everything—my wealth, my power, my kingdom, my protection, my identity—before Celestria will see us. And that means I have to give up my magic, because magic is the source of all those things."

It was tempting to debate his interpretation, if only to raise his spirits, but he hadn't summoned me here to cheer him up, nor would lies serve my client. His honest disclosure called for the same in return. "Before Celestria will see you," I echoed. "Without knowing for certain that she will, or that she even hears you."

"Yes. And if she does not, if I give up my magic and Bae is not returned to me, how will I find him?"

I thought about this carefully. "I will help all I can. My magic isn't strong, but I'll put it to use for you in your search for Bae, and I'll go to Blue on your behalf to ask her assistance."

"Thank you," he said, but I'm sure he was thinking what I was: if the most powerful mage in the world couldn't track down a child without casting a terrible curse, what chance did a weak-powered fairy have? He scowled and kicked at a stray log, knocking it back into the fire. He muttered to himself, "Only a fool would make a deal when there's no guarantee of a return."

"One doesn't make deals with the old gods. One makes sacrifices, and prays they are accepted, and hopes they are rewarded. But to consider it from her point of view: what does she stand to gain by helping you reunite with Bae?"

"The end of the Dark One."

"That's what the world stands to gain. She's a goddess; she doesn't even live here. What does _she_ want?"

"Ah, the eternal question of men everywhere: 'What does she want?'" Rumplestiltskin mused. "I'm among the fortunate few: Belle shares her wishes and opinions with me."

"You are indeed, and perhaps, when you meet the goddess, you will thank her for bringing Belle to you."

"That would be wise of me, wouldn't it?" he sighed. "Many's the time I would have negotiated a little less strenuously in my deals if a 'thank you' had been included in the offering. Do you know how many deals I've made in my career?"

"Thousands?"

"Thousands upon thousands. And how many times the beneficiary has thanked me—I can count on a buzzard's toes."

I nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same for the fairies." Intentionally, I didn't say _us fairies_. "Even those who are happy with the outcome of a wish seldom call their wish-grantor back again to offer thanks. And more often than not, even though they've been given exactly what they asked for, they complain."

He nodded too and gave me a small smile. "Would it surprise you if I said I take some satisfaction from hearing you say that? I always rather imagined fairies to be well thought of—even adored."

"They are—from a distance. But to return to the purpose of our discussion: we have studied Celestria for six years now. What does she want?"

"Of all the powers she could have been goddess of, she_ chose_ to be the goddess of love," he summarized. "It's what she prizes most highly. From all we've read of her, her purpose is to spread love everywhere—and if she can, defeat her sometime-lover, sometime-enemy, the god of war. So for Belle and me to be together would achieve her aim."

"And so would your reunion with Bae." My heart lightened. "Perhaps we're asking the wrong question, Rumplestiltskin. Perhaps the right question is 'Why wouldn't she want to help you find Bae?' Perhaps it's not such a great gamble, after all."

"Regardless, it's a great sacrifice," he growled. "I have many rivals, several enemies. Without magic, how can I fight them? How can I protect Bae and Belle against them?"

"You have wealth beyond imagining. You can hire guards, if you must stay here. Or you can allow me to send you and your family to a land that's never heard of the Dark One, where you can live in safety and comfort. . . .where fine schools can educate your child—and any other children to come after him."

"To live in peace, with my son and my wife," he said slowly. "If ever I asked a fairy to grant me a wish, that would be it." He stood and cast a quick glance at me. "I need to think. I bid you good night, Tori, and thank you."

I grinned, certain now I could consider him a friend, and confident that he perceived the same of me. "Good night, and thank you, Rumplestiltskin."

* * *

I seldom have nightmares, but that night I had the worst of my memory. I dreamt I was trapped in a little house with my son, and outside the wind howled and demons battered the windows and doors. At least, I took them to be demons, for they intended to kill me and snatch my small son, for the purpose of making him one of their cult. But when I awoke I had second thoughts, for my dream demons were all dressed in flower necklaces and tutus and gossamer wings.

And then I cried for the sake of a father whose life was tricked away from him, and whose child was snatched away; and I could understand why he might see demons behind every door, even if those demons claimed to act on the side of good.

* * *

On the tenth day Rumplestiltskin appeared as we were weeding the garden. He stood quietly, dressed in dark red robes that made him look much older than his leathers did; one might mistake him for a holy man. His skin had lost its glitter; it was the color of tarnished gold. We removed our gloves and brushed off our skirts and went to meet him. Belle gave him a kiss on the cheek and he slipped his arm about her waist. "You have the answer," she said, and he nodded.

"If the fable is to be believed, I must make the ultimate sacrifice before the goddess of love will hear my appeal. I must surrender my magic." He sounded exhausted. Resigned.

"'If the fable is to be believed,'" Belle echoed him. "Do you believe it?"

"Yes."

Belle's voice slipped under his like a cushion to support his fall. "It would take tremendous faith to give up your magic even before we get to speak to Celestria."

"Indeed," he agreed. "I have never been a creature of faith, not even when I was a man, but to have both you and Bae with me, I will try."

"It's the bravest step I've ever seen anyone take," she said, taking his hands in hers.

"Tonight." He glanced at the sky. "The moon will be full tonight; Celestria can't help but see us."

"Tonight." I wasn't sure if she was agreeing with him or just trying to take it all in; she appeared dazed.

"While I still can, I'd like to take you somewhere wonderful." His forehead pressed against hers. "Anywhere, anything you'd like to see."

Now that they were on the verge of the breaking of the Dark One's curse and Belle could see just how much he was giving up, she appeared confused. I wondered if she would try to talk him out of his decision; I was certain she would love him, magic or not; but as long as the Dark One lived, she would be miserable, just as Bae had been. For the moment, at least, she seemed prepared to respect his decision and not interfere with it. "I should like to walk on the moon," she said. "Can you take me there?"

What a wise choice! She had given him leave to do something truly spectacular for her, to make an amazing memory with his last act of magic. It was a gift to him as well as to her.

He laughed. "I can. But first, you'll need a cloak, sweet one; it's quite cold there." He touched her shoulders and a heavy brocade cloak appeared, wrapping itself around her snugly. They bade me goodbye and vanished a purple cloud.

It wasn't the first time I wondered what love—that kind of love, not the kind fairies feel for all living things—felt like. . . and what, if I were given the chance, I would sacrifice to have it.

* * *

Belle brought me back a rock. I burst into tears and ran off to my bedchambers to compose myself—not for the gift, of course, though it was quite unusual; nor for pity of Rumplestiltskin, for what he was about to lose. I cried for the _beauty_ of the sacrifice. It doesn't make sense, I know, but there it is.

We tried to dine as the sun sank, but no one could eat; I took no offense, though I'd done the cooking. We admitted there would be no games or conversation this evening as we waited for the moon to appear; we sat beside the fire in silence.

Lost in the embers, I didn't notice the tingling under my skin and the prickling of my magic. It took a shout to rouse me: "Sister! Ianatora! Come home immediately!" I gasped, startled; the shout came again, and the urgency of the call drove me to my feet and I stood and looked about in confusion, for the Dark Castle remained quiet, its master standing beside the fire, its mistress slumped in a chair.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, disturbing their thoughts.

"What?" Belle asked.

Rumplestiltskin turned from the hearth and stood at attention, his skin sparkling and sparking with magic. He lifted his face, listening.

The call came again. It was my sisters' magic calling to mine; he should not have been able to hear it. "The Reul Ghorm," he said, and then I understood: while one of my sisters was summoning me, Blue herself was summoning him. I didn't think about it: my blood called out to the blood of my sisters, and I went, without farewell, without hesitation.

As much as I would have it otherwise, I was still a fairy.

I hadn't lived such a long life by acting incautiously. Upon arriving in Fairyland, where it was mid-morning (for Fairyland and the Dark Castle are a great distance apart, by choice of all occupants), I hovered behind a cloud to take stock, and I quickly recognized the meaning of the scene below me: Fairyland was under attack. Sadly, it is a common occurrence, perpetuated either by revenge or by a craving to control our power. A rough count informed me that we were outnumbered three to one, and outsized: our attackers were trolls. Momentarily, I felt relieved, because while trolls have great strength and viciousness, they have no magic powers. A closer look revealed I was wrong: the trolls themselves had no magic, but their weapons did. I came out from behind my cloud and darted behind enemy lines, and there I discovered the source of the enchantment: Regina. Safe behind her wall of trolls, she alternately cast fresh enchantments on their weapons and threw out attacks of her own.

I produced a spyglass for a closer examination of the battlefield, for such my former home now was. I counted nineteen dead: eleven trolls, eight fairies. In the universal thread of magic that connects all fairies, regardless of our tribal affiliation or our location or language, I heard my sisters worldwide singing prayers for the dead and the dying. It's not a song sung with the voice, but rather with the spirit; as for the voices of my sisters here in Fairyland, their cries were battle cries meant to encourage fellow warriors and strike fear in enemies.

Alas, the enemy trolls just laughed, as did their mistress.

I am no fighter, never have been, never even trained for it. And in recent years, had it been an option to me, and had I found something else to replace it, I would have renounced my fairyhood. But I watched a trio of trolls immobilize one of my sisters with a magic wand—yes, as a mocking insult to us, Regina had conjured wands and distributed them, along with magic clubs and maces and arrows and swords—and as I watched, each of the trolls grabbed a wing and yanked it off, and then they let her go, to fall helplessly to the ground. They laughed, and one of them grunted something in their primal language, and his companions seized my sister by the limbs, stretching them taut, and the first one tore the clothes from my sister, then used his dagger to. . . .

I became violently ill then, ducking behind a bush to empty my stomach—and then I became violent. I swooped down, forgetting my inexperience and age and weakness, and crying the ancient battle cry of my race, I—gods help me. I used my magic to slaughter all three, eviscerating them with steel knives, then burning what remained of them with lightning. When I think of it now, I can only cry for forgiveness, but then, in that moment of uncontrollable fury, I could only think of causing suffering and fear.

Having dispatched of those three, I sent my wounded sister behind our lines to the medical tent, where I knew she would be given a heavy sedative—a sedative that would end her life. It was the humane thing to do, for after what the trolls had done to her, she could only survive a few hours, and those would bring unbearable mental and physical pain.

And then I took my place along the archers' wall. I had no strength for a sword or for continued attacks of magic, but I could send an arrow to its target—although my skill had been gained entirely through recreation; archery was a sort of meditation for me. With barely a glance at me, one of my sisters issued me a bow and quiver, and I began to fire.

I killed. I don't know how many. To this day, the guilt gives me night terrors sometimes—but sometimes in my dreams, gods forgive me, I _laugh_ as I watch my arrows take lives.

As I began to tire, I heard one of my sisters gasp, "Look!" But I was in mid-aim and could not obey her; I sent my arrow, it tore flesh and drew blood but failed to kill. And then a shout went up all along the front line, rising above the screams of the dying and the clatter of swords—a shout of amazement and hope and—my gods, a _cheer_ _for Rumplestiltskin_! Yes, my sisters were chanting the name of their mortal enemy as they would a conquering hero.

I momentarily forgot to raise my bow. I trained my eyes on the front line, seeking to understand the cause of this cheer, but in the confusion I couldn't find him. Spirits renewed, my sisters of the sword had redoubled their efforts, and the trolls became vulnerable in their distraction, seeking as I did to determine the location of the Dark One, in dread that he might be in their very midst.

Wherever he was—and I suspect he was everywhere at once, striking alarm even more than physical damage—he was working for us. I could feel his magic coming in sharp staccato bursts, so calm in its confidence, so strategic in its attacks. He was working for us. _Rumplestiltskin was fighting for fairies._

I raised my bow and reached for another arrow, and as I took aim his magic spoke to mine: "What a delightful way to spend a morning. Worry not, Tori; Regina is powerful and knowledgeable in the ways of war, but I am more powerful and knowledgeable in the ways of Regina." And then he giggled.

Exhaustion evaporated. We came on, full strength, singing our victory song. My quiver refilled itself, my arrows found their targets, and I slew. A message from the front line was relayed throughout our ranks: some of the trolls had dropped their magic weapons and were running away. It wouldn't be long now, we told each other.

Regina realized it too. Regina the fool would rather perish than accept defeat, even though this attack of hers seemed random, unprovoked, even unplanned: she had simply attacked, with no attempt to parley beforehand, no demands being thrown down first. Later, Rumplestiltskin would speculate that it was Blue's power she sought to steal, and rather than do it as he would have—stealthily, surgically—she had strong-armed her way into Fairyland. On the verge of defeat now, in desperation she abandoned her army to do as it would, and she sought her original target.

I suppose some would applaud the courage of her next move; Rumplestiltskin called it "amateurish." Certainly, it left us flabbergasted: Regina transported herself behind our lines, and flicking magic from side to side with as little effort as one would swat at mosquitoes, she muscled her way through the royal guard and marched right up to Blue. Blue raised a shield, but Regina shattered it with a barrage of maces, and as Blue fumbled to conjure a sword, Regina simply swept in, her black robes striking sparks of electricity where they contacted stone, and grasped Blue by the throat.

We on the archers' wall witnessed this over our shoulders even as we continued to release arrows. Our victory song was silenced. Some of us began to sing prayers to the ancient gods, pleas for guidance and assistance: "Gods be with us, gods preserve us."

A madman's cackle broke through the prayers. "You called, dearies?" He appeared behind Blue, his arms crossed, leaning against a tree as casually as if he had been invited to a picnic. He wore his leathers and dragon-skin jacket and a cold smile. "Oh don't mind me, ladies," he giggled. "I just came to watch the cat fight."

Regina's grip tightened and Blue gasped for air. "Stay out of this, Rumple," the Evil Queen shouted. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Hmm," he seemed to speculate. "No, dearie, I believe it does. You see, as much as it would thrill my nasty little heart to watch you crush the Reul Ghorm, I simply can't allow it. Balance, you know. For a Dark One to exist, there must also be a Reul Ghorm, and I think you and I are better off if it continues to be this one. The devil you know, and all that. So—put her down, Regina, and pick up your little army and go home."

Regina's eyes widened. "You would fight me for _her_?"

"How fun! Yes, I'm up for some sparring. The question is, are you, _Apprentice_?"

Those closer to the scene reported later that Regina gulped at that last word, but then she decided to call her old master's bluff and regained her composure. With her free hand she sent bursts of electric shock into Blue's face. "Give me your wand, fairy, and I'll let you live."

"No, Apprentice, you will let her down." Rumplestiltskin gave an exaggerated yawn. "Now, please." And then, still leaning against the tree, he raised one hand as if inspecting the claws and magic burst from it, magic as bright as the sun, and so hot I could feel its burn from my perch upon the wall. Only he and I knew it at the time, but this was the world's greatest mage going out in a blaze of glory.

Regina's eyebrows were singed; her beehive hairdo caught fire and the jewels in her war crown melted.

Despite his bravado, Rumplestiltskin was concerned for Blue's safety. When he saw her clutched in Regina's iron grip, I believe for the first time he really saw _her_, not a fairy, not a queen, not his mortal enemy, but a person, whose actual name none of us had ever heard. He told me later that at this moment he realized he couldn't manage to hate her, though he did try; and then he was left with no choice but to rescue her.

As Regina threw off her crown and poured a magic bucket of water over her head to quench the flames, she released Blue, and the royal guard dashed in to carry the fairy queen to safety. With another flick of her wrist, Regina's hairdo and crown were restored, though she forgot to paint in some eyebrows. Restored, Regina stood uncertain, collecting her dignity and thoughts, and then Rumplestiltskin raised up from the tree and standing flat-footed he placed his still-glowing hands on his hips. "Well, Regina? Your move."

She seemed to shudder as he used her proper name, for his humor had dried up. She raised her chin, though it quivered. "Another time, imp." And in a puff of smoke she vanished.

The cheers and our victory song shook the trees. The few trolls who remained fought on for several minutes before they realized their general had gone—trolls are cursed with both irrational stubbornness and stupidity—and then they turned tail.

Drunk with the heady cocktail of glee and rage, I shouted my taunts at them and shook my bow, but my shouts became a gasp when my bow suddenly popped, and then it was gone, and in its place a large gold key was clenched in my fist. I opened my palm to inspect the key—some odd little joke, I supposed, though I couldn't guess whose. On it was inscribed _Ianator_.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Wherein Rumplestiltskin Makes His Decision and His Request

Neither of us remained behind to receive thanks; we weren't certain there would be any, and besides, there was a most pressing matter at hand. Rumplestiltskin needed to reconsider his earlier decision to surrender his magic for love.

Day was breaking when we returned to the castle, where Belle greeted us with hugs and hot toddies and requests for a full report. But the showman had been left behind on the battlefield: Rumplestiltskin dropped into his chair at the head of the dining table and presented to her only the plainest and simplest of facts. He made it sound no more dangerous than a trip to the market; perhaps for him it hadn't been, or perhaps he didn't want to alarm her. I would follow his lead out of respect for his decision; I added no description of my own. Belle shrugged and said, "Hmph," and we sipped our toddies in silence.

After breakfast, Belle asked, "Will it be tonight, then?"

For the first and last time in my acquaintance with him, Rumplestiltskin confessed he was considering reversing his decision. Having just witnessed the consequences of an imbalance in power between "evil" and "good," I needed no explanation, and Belle's trust in him ran so deep that she would have accepted his change of heart without one; still, something else within him was changing; he wanted to talk out his dilemma. As we listened, I believed I saw him actually relax, another first; he was distributing some of his burden to Belle.

Ah, I thought, this is some of the reward for the pains of love. I wondered what it would be like, to have someone you could trust with your deepest fears and secrets, to know that person would not flee from you in horror or strike out in anger when you revealed the darkest parts of your soul. But fairies do not love in that way, and what you are incapable of feeling, you will never miss. Will you?

He told her the story of the creation of the first Dark One and the first Reul Ghorm, their reason for being, the necessity for both to exist in the world, so that Man would always have a choice; and the necessity of an equal distribution of power between the two, so neither would destroy the other. The gods in their infinite wisdom had made it so and it must remain so, though the battle between the Dark One and the Reul Ghorm would continue forever. When the time came for Blue to relinquish her crown and die—for only the Dark One was immortal—another Reul Ghorm would be appointed by the gods, just as when Theodosius the Manipulator had chosen to perish, he had been required to first find a successor, the humble peasant Rumplestiltskin.

"There must be a Dark One, Belle. My successor, if I allow you to break the curse, would be Regina."

He said no more. Belle had seen enough of Regina to know her character. "My gods."

"Blue is not a match for Regina; I see that now," Rumplestiltskin surmised. "She was the perfect foil for me, but she hasn't the impulsiveness or viciousness to keep Regina in check." He turned to me. "Is there another in your tribe who has those qualities?"

I thought long, calling to mind the faces of each member of the tribe, even the youngest. At last I shook my head.

"Perhaps we will have to search among the other tribes, then," Rumplestiltskin said wearily. "There must be a successor in place before I release my power."

I realized he was correct. I had been wrong when I had thought the re-humanization of Rumplestiltskin would mean the end to the Dark One; and I, a fairy, bitter though it tasted on my tongue, could only agree, "There must be a Dark One."

Belle wondered, "If Regina were—eliminated from the competition, who else could be the Dark One?"

"There is no one strong enough," Rumplestiltskin said. "And to have a weak Dark One is just as bad as to have a weak Reul Ghorm."

"But Bae," Belle objected.

Rumplestiltskin dropped his head into his hands. "Until the right fairy can be found—or created, as I created Regina. . . ."

"Oh, Rumple." She knelt beside him and stroked his arm.

I remembered the strange key then. "I don't know if this has any significance, but right after you defeated Regina, my bow turned into this." I showed them the key.

Belle read the inscription: "_Ianator_ Doorkeeper. This was definitely meant for you, Tori. It's a beautiful trinket. Maybe some kind of reward for your service in battle?"

Rumplestiltskin weighed the key in his hand. "Pure gold." He would know. "It was made by magic."

My interest rose. "Not fairy magic; I would have recognized it. What kind of magic?"

He inspected it closely. "I don't recognize it. Something old. Before my time." His hand suddenly tightened around the key. "It's talking to me!"

Belle pushed her hair back from her ears and moved her head close to his hand. "I don't hear anything."

"Through the magic. Its magic talks through mine." He clutched the key against his chest, but after a long while shook his head in frustration. "I can't—it's one of the ancient tongues. I think it's Old Urduran."

They both looked at me, and he handed me the key. "Well! It seems the Old Ones aren't finished with us yet," I tried to make light of it, to hide my nervousness. Closing my eyes and clutching the key with both hands, I shut everything else out, even the sound of my own breath. My magic couldn't compare with his; it took me a long time and a great effort to hear in my brain the voice of the Old One who had enchanted this key, and then I had to listen to the message over and over, for, although it was simple enough, I had learned Old Urduran by the books; I didn't know how the words were pronounced. I conjured a sheet of paper and a quill and wrote down what I thought I was hearing. I wrote, scratched out, wrote again, scratched out again, wrote. When I translated what I had written, I stared in shock at the words, because I thought I knew from whom this message had come. I dared not voice it aloud yet, though. I merely passed the sheet to Rumplestiltskin and said, "It's for you."

He read it silently, then with raised eyebrows read it to Belle: "'And when the king gave love to those he was least willing to love, the first key unto him was granted; and when the king laid down his life for love, the second key unto him was granted, and the temple door swung wide, and for his sacrifice and his faith, the hole in his heart was healed. A king he had been, and a king he was again, and love came to abide in all the realms.'"

"I believe," he mused, "I've just received a conditional invitation from the goddess of love."

"How sure are you?" I asked. For if he acted upon his interpretation of my translation of a language I had a very limited knowledge of, he could not go back. His magic, once broken, could not be reclaimed.

He thought for a moment, then with his fingertip picked up a grain of salt from his breakfast plate. "Right now, this much."

"It's that much more certain than you were before," Belle said.

He stood and stretched. "It was a long night. I need some rest."

* * *

Three nights passed as Rumplestiltskin pondered. Hours on end he spent in the library, rereading all we have found about Celestria, studying the message of the key and the key itself; he failed to join us at the dinner table or for our morning walks around the estate. Belle and I left him to the library: our minds weary, we craved simple labor, so we tended the garden and washed the clothes and scrubbed the floors until our hands were chapped and our knees bruised, and we talked as we worked. Belle fretted about whether the message could be trusted—what if it was some trick of Regina's? She speculated about the state of the world, should Regina become the new Dark One. But upon one question, she had no doubt: Rumplestiltskin must be freed from his curse before Bae could return home.

She asked me over and over what I thought. It was not my place to advise them; my profession calls for me to provide all the information a client requires, but any actions he takes based on that information must be decided upon by him, not me. I surmised, however, what I thought the evidence showed: "I believe the gods still exist. I believe they can be appealed to, if meaningful sacrifices are offered from the purest place in the heart. I believe my translation to be fair, and I believe the message and the key were sent by the goddess. I believe the love between you and Rumplestiltskin is a miracle and therefore could only have come from the gods, and therefore must be protected."

"Why would the goddess create love between the Dark One and a human, if it upsets the balance of power between good and evil?" Belle kept returning to this question, but neither of us had an answer.

I had a question of my own, though I didn't voice it: why would the goddess create a longing for love in a five hundred year old fairy?

On the morning of the fourth day, we found Rumplestiltskin in the kitchen, where he had prepared a lavish breakfast for us; his magic had brought us fruits and breads and teas and meats from all over the world. Dressed again in his red robes, he rose from the table as we entered the room, and he grinned, spreading his hands to draw our attention to the meal; both delighted child and generous lord of the manor, so he seemed at that moment.

Belle exclaimed over the exotic treats and filled her plate to its full capacity, and before she seated herself she kissed his cheek in gratitude, but before she had taken the first bite, she noticed what I had: his red robes. We now knew what those robes meant. She set her fork down, her food untouched. "You're going to do it."

"I've been the Dark One a very long time. I've decided I've earned the right to step down. . . and to trust." He poured tea for us; his own tea he poured into the chipped cup. "I have a few final chores to be done today while I still have magic. This evening, we will call upon the goddess, if she'll have us."

The enthusiasm with which he attacked his breakfast gave us reason to believe he was confident the goddess would welcome his offering.

* * *

We gathered in the Great Hall at sundown. He was in fine spirits, trouncing us in a hand of Dou Di Zhu, then regaling us with humorous stories of some of his more colorful deals as we sipped mulled wine. For the first time, he freely displayed his affection for Belle, stroking her arm, toying with her hair, kissing her hand. I suppose he no longer feared slipping into the temptation of a passionate kiss.

At moonrise Rumplestiltskin stood and offered Belle his hand. There was a certain hill, they said, that they had chosen for this purpose, a hill that they had visited often, where the wildflowers proliferated and the stars seemed within arm's reach. They asked me to come, because if their wish was granted and Celestria appeared before them, they wanted my encouragement as they made their request. They were understandably nervous, for all they were surrendering just on a possibility.

As we walked up the hill, I found myself beginning to speak—to urge them not to go through with this. What if those scrolls were just stories and Celestria didn't exist? What if they were lies, perhaps written by some ancient Dark One who wanted to trick future readers? Or what if it was a trick of the fairies?

And then I clamped my mouth shut. If they could believe, so could I. After all, I had nothing to lose. I clenched the gold key in my hand, taking comfort from its small vibrations of magic.

At the top of the hill we all looked up, admiring the stars, until at last we had to face the inevitable, and we looked to the moon. Rumplestiltskin reached his open palms toward Lady Luna and shouted in a voice that could make the stars take notice: "Celestria! If you exist, hear us! I give everything I am for love!"

His hands flared with a bright burst of magic, and in his left palm the chipped tea cup appeared; in his right, a worn leather kickball that I recognized from the bedchambers he kept furnished for Bae. "Let these objects serve as symbols of my sacrifice. Celestria, I beg you, accept them, for they represent everything that truly matters to me."

The North Star suddenly flared, streaming beams of white light from its heavenly perch to touch the earth. Belle started to shake, clutching her cloak tightly, though the night was warm. She had worn her best dress, a white ball gown trimmed with gold, and the trim caught the starlight and reflected it so that she sparkled in the night, a star brought to life.

The tea cup and the toy vanished.

Rumplestiltskin lowered his arms and cleared his throat nervously. "She exists!" he grinned crookedly at Belle. He thought for a moment, then suggested, "One last act of magic to go out on." He closed his hand over Belle's for a moment; when he released her, a gold ring sat in the palm of her hand. The centerpiece of the ring was a diamond, neither large nor small but somewhere in between, and as a beam of starlight touched it and refracted from it, Belle gasped, then showed it to me: encased within the diamond was a tiny red rose.

"If you'll have me?" he asked shyly.

Through her tears she could manage just one word: "Forever." He took the ring from her palm, turned her hand over and slipped the ring onto her finger.

Then he drew her toward him as he called out again to the heavens, "Goddess of love, I lay down my wealth, my power, my protection, my life for love." He slid his arms about Belle's waist; she raised her hands to his shoulders; his head bent, hers tilted up, their lips met. . . .

The North Star streaked across the night sky to position itself directly above the lovers, its light enveloping them: the heavens were blessing this kiss.

In light as bright as the noonday sun, the couple held each other and kissed, and a violet haze emanated from Rumplestiltskin's body, gathered itself into beams of power, and the beams shot off into the sky. A pink hue crept up his face from his throat, up his hands from his fingers; his claws receded, becoming ordinary fingernails; his hair straightened of its own accord; and when he ended the kiss and opened his eyes they were no longer the gold of a pirate's bullion; they were the deep brown of rich, warm earth.

They laughed, and he sank his hands into her hair and kissed her again, as a bridegroom kisses his bride, and while they were still kissing the North Star drew in toward us, its beams reached for us, and all went white around us.

When the starbeams withdrew, we found ourselves standing at an ivy-covered wooden gate as large as that around the Dark Castle. A flash of light took my attention to the lock on the gate and a kind voice from the heavens called down to me, "Ianatora, trusted keeper of the door: grant thou admission to these seekers?"

"With all my heart," I answered, inserting the gold key into the lock. I turned the key and the door in the gate swung open. I was certain of who had addressed me, but quite puzzled by the way she had addressed me: I, the goddess' gatekeeper? Trusted? I had never seen or spoken to her; why would she trust a stranger?

We passed through the door and found ourselves on a grand estate, where children frolicked with lambs and goats and kittens and pups, where parents and grandparents watched with soft eyes, where lovers young and old strolled arm in arm, their heads bent toward each other. Rumplestiltskin and Belle, for all their newness to this place, looked no different from the other lovers: they looked as if they belonged here.

As we approached, the frolickers and the lovers did a strange thing: they stopped what they were doing and looked at us and . . . bowed and curtsied, and remained so.

We followed a well-worn path lined by foreign flowers to the center of the estate: the temple of the goddess. A grand marble structure it was, with mirrors in place of windows, so that worshippers would find themselves reflected in the architecture. A plush red carpet leading up the stone stairs absorbed our footfalls. Belle's eyes wandered everywhere, taking it all in, but Rumplestiltskin's focused straight ahead, his expression stern. In my peripheral vision I noticed the fingers of his free hand were rubbing together as though he were back home at his wheel, spinning.

I felt sorry for him then, that he couldn't feel the messages in the magic of this place, or else he would know what I did. As for me, I was excited and curious, for I was about to meet my maker, literally, and the colors and music that the magic here was wrapped in sent a clear message to all who could read magic: this world was celebrating a great victory, and a joyous welcome awaited the heroes that had achieved it: Belle and Rumplestiltskin.

We entered the vestibule and paused to take our bearings. A cleric in long white robes met us there, grinned, bowed, kissed our hands, bowed again, and over and over in a dozen languages he greeted us: "Welcome, welcome, soldiers for love!"

Nearly tripping on his own feet, he walked backwards so that he wouldn't have to turn his back to us; he ushered us inside the sunny and airy cella. The walls were lined with paintings and statues honoring the goddess in all her incarnations; a fountain of Aphrodite pouring from an amphora. At the back of the cella, seated on her throne, with servants and worshippers gathered at her feet, was the goddess herself.

No words of mine can begin to describe her beauty, her gracefulness, her majesty. As the fabulist wrote, her hair was indeed of spun gold, her robes of fire and her voice the song of the wind. As the cleric lead us toward the dais, she rose; even in standing still she carried herself with the grace of a swan. Her attendants and worshippers rose too, and bowed and curtsied deeply.

Wishing to show respect, we stopped several yards back from the dais, but the cleric urged us forward until we were standing at the bottom step, so close we could hear the goddess breathe. Belle and Rumplestiltskin glanced hastily at me for a signal, but though this temple was the home of my queen's queen, I had no idea of the proper etiquette: no fairy of my generation had ever come here, not even Blue; and none of us besides Blue had ever seen the goddess, or even dreamt it possible. So with an uncomfortable smile I did what everyone else here seemed to want to do: I curtsied. Belle followed suit, and with a relieved grin Rumplestiltskin made his grandest bow.

One minute I was staring at the spotless marble floor; the next, the goddess' sandals. A soft hand came under my chin, and I gulped as Celestria lifted my face and my eyes met hers. I can't tell you what color her large, darkly-fringed eyes were, for they seemed to be every color, changing from moment to moment. "Doorkeeper, welcome," she said fondly, as though she'd known me all my life—I wondered later if she had. "Your work brings honor to your tribe—and to me."

I couldn't get my voice to work. She kissed my forehead, and where her lips pressed, my skin tingled with magic, and the message her magic carried to me was _my blessing upon you_. "Ianatora, you shall be rewarded for what you have accomplished for love."

Then she turned to my right, where Belle stood, her hands folded demurely but her head held high. The goddess took Belle by the hands and peered into her eyes. "Belle! On the morning of your birth, I sent a dove to sing at your window. I had claimed you, you see, as a warrior for love. I had thoughts of great achievements in store for you, but, my child, you surpassed them all, for you have changed the world with a kiss." She pressed Belle's hands between her own as she kissed the duchess' forehead.

Celestria at last came to Rumplestiltskin. She stood before him, her hands clasped, and just looked at him a long moment: as tall as he, she met his eyes easily, and he met hers—with confidence. I was so proud of him for that: love had given him a quiet courage. Whatever answer Celestria might give to his request—whether he walked away a father again—it was plain to see he had faith in the choice he'd made.

She touched his arm. And then with a small cry she embraced him and kissed his cheek and he returned the embrace. When she stepped back, still grasping his arm, her eyelashes glistened with tears. "Rumplestiltskin. Henceforth, you will be remembered in song and poetry: no longer the Dealer, but Rumplestiltskin the Conqueror, he who vanquished the Dark One in the name of love. You conquered hate when you gave love to those you were least willing to love. When you saved the Reul Ghorm from Regina, you saved yourself from the Dark One. And when I asked proof of your commitment, you sacrificed all. Tell me, dear child, without magic, do you feel powerless, as you thought you would?"

He thought for a moment before answering, "I feel stronger."

"You thought magic was your armor, but armor only weighs a man down, burdens him. Let love be your sword and your buckler, and you'll find your freedom in it." Celestria looked at each of us, one by one, with, it seemed to me, the same gaze with which the sculptors must have looked upon the statutes that graced this temple. She finally turned back to Rumplestiltskin. "Now, you shall have the audience with me that you requested." She returned to her throne and seated herself, her back arrow-straight. "What have you come for, Rumplestiltskin the Conqueror?"

He drew in a breath and released it before making his plea. "Two centuries ago, a short time after the Dark curse came upon—a short time after I brought the Dark curse upon myself for the purpose of obtaining power, my son asked the Reul Ghorm to help him—help _us_ to free me from the evil that had taken hold of me. He was everything to me, but the monster I'd become horrified him."

"Did the Reul Ghorm take him from you, Rumplestiltskin?"

I watched the struggle on his face, the fight between self-protection and honesty, and thank the gods, he chose the latter. "No. She gave us a way to beat the Dark One and stay together, but I—" he glanced at Belle. "I was afraid to let go of the magic, and so I let go of him—just as I would have done with Belle."

"Truth is love's buckler, and courage is love's sword. With them, you don't need magic. And you have them, Rumplestiltskin; I am excited to see what you will do with them in the years that remain to you." She smiled at him. "And your request?"

"Send me and Belle to place he's gone, or bring Bae to us." Rumplestiltskin folded his hands and waited—calmly (I, meanwhile, shook).

"Which is your preference?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, with a quick glance at Belle, who nodded agreement. "Wherever you think best. It doesn't matter; we can adapt to anything, as long as we're together."

"Well said." The goddess paused, then asked, "You had made your decision to surrender your magic before Regina attacked my servants. After that attack, you hesitated. But your hesitation wasn't born of fear or greed, was it? It was born of love."

He scowled at the floor. "I worried what would happen when I allowed the curse to be broken."

Celestria nodded slowly. "You were right to be concerned. As much as I would wish for evil to be driven from the world, it can't be accomplished that way. Mankind must have a choice, and when each man conquers the evil within himself, only then will the world have no need for a Dark One—or fairies. Alas, children, that day is still far away."

Rumplestiltskin's head snapped up and his eyes burned. "So Regina has become the Dark One."

"Yes." Strangely, the goddess smiled—_smiled_!—at this admission. "And it's as you thought: the Reul Ghorm is no match for her; at this moment, the balance between good and evil is tilted, and that must be rectified."

A flash of light in the air above the throne drew our attention: Blue appeared, shining and glorious in her finest gown, her wings fluttering gently, her wand in her hand and a smile on her lips. She looked relieved, I thought, and pleased. "But there is a solution," Blue said. "The perfect foe for Regina; someone who can foretell her every move and block her every strike."

In a blink of light Blue made herself the size of a human, and she walked down the stairs of the dais and straight for Rumplestiltskin.

Celestria rose and came down to stand beside Blue. "I ask this as a great favor. The request you've made of me will be fulfilled, regardless of your answer. But there is still work for you in your world, if you'll accept it."

As Belle and I stared in amazement, Blue curtsied to Rumplestiltskin and presented him her wand. We watched his eyes widen and his mouth fall open as Celestria made her offer: "Rumplestiltskin the Conqueror, for as long as Regina lives, will you accept the office of Reul Ghorm?"

"The tutu is optional," Blue added with a wink.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Wherein A Child Arrives and We Attend Two Weddings

"Rumplestiltskin, a fairy?" Belle was incredulous.

"No, my child," Celestria corrected. "He will have the use of fairy dust and wands, but he will remain human." She turned to Rumplestiltskin. "You will live as a human, with a home and a son and, I trust, a wife, but you will guide the fairies as their king."

His eyes gleamed as he looked to Belle; in them, I could see a little of the old imp, relishing the thought of leading a fight or two against Regina. I could also see the human, willing to serve his fellow man in a role for which he was uniquely suited. He saw his destiny presented to him in Blue's outstretched hands, and so did Belle. With a grin she said, "I should be honored to be a king's consort—and to fight alongside him in the name of love."

Blue set the wand in his hands and gave a little shudder of relief.

"You, my steadfast and courageous servant, are welcome home," Celestria gave Blue a hug. "You have earned your retirement; you are free."

Blue curtsied. "Thank you, my queen." She stepped back to stand among the goddess' attendants, and as she did, her appearance changed: her wings vanished, and in place of her tutu and steep heels, sandals and white gown of silk appeared.

"One more favor I ask of the two of you," Celestria addressed Belle and Rumplestiltskin. "Will you do me the honor of permitting me to unite you in matrimony?"

Belle clasped her hands. "_Thank you_! Oh, Celestria, thank you!"

Her husband-to-be bowed. "It's we who are honored, goddess."

Celestria seemed quite pleased with herself. She surveyed the couple, Belle in her gold-trimmed ball gown, Rumplestiltskin in his red robes. "You are already dressed for the occasion, and you have the ring, I see, and you have a maid of honor"—meaning me. "All that lacks is a best man." She glanced over her shoulder.

We all followed her gaze, but it happened too fast for us to catch: a blur of color and sound came streaking across the temple and flew at Rumplestiltskin, seizing him by the waist and nearly bowling him over. "Papa!"

When my eyes finally caught up with the blur, I discovered that its maker was a tousle-haired boy, just a shade shorter than the man he was hugging. Although he was dressed in strange garb, there could be no doubt who he was.

Rumplestiltskin lifted the boy's face to study it in stunned silence, then as the youngster squeezed him tight and cried, "Papa, papa, papa," into his chest, the imp bowed his head over the boy's and gasped, "Thank the gods, thank the gods—and the goddess" before he broke into tears.

* * *

In the Enchanted Forest, tradition among the royals dictates that a wedding celebration last seven days; tradition among the peasants, who cannot afford to miss so much time away from the fields, let alone feed and house guests for so long, dictates that the celebration last two.

The bride was a noblewoman; her husband, a newly made king; and the officiator, the goddess of love. So the wedding of Belle and Rumplestiltskin lasted twelve days.

When Celestria sent us home again, we were greeted by my entire tribe. Blue accompanied us, just to ease Rumplestiltskin's transition into his new role. Acceptance, as you can imagine, did not come easily; among some of the tribe, it didn't come at all, and they left to serve in another tribe. But as Celestria had foretold, and as Blue demanded, the singers and the poets soon added the Conqueror to their tales of fairy-heroes, and my sisters, remembering how he had saved them from Regina, and trusting that the magic he wielded now—magic that smelled and tasted like their own—would prove just as strong as the new Dark One's powers, learned to ignore his strange ways. The presence of Bae and Belle helped, for, my sisters reasoned, if those two (even though they were just humans) could love him, he couldn't be all bad. As he walked among them, advising them, teaching them, they came to see that the magic flowing under his skin—pink now, no longer greenish-gold—was the same as theirs.

Hatred, I've learned, is like a steel-striker: it requires a flint to make a fire. Though he bore the name of the one they'd long hated, he looked very little now like him; in his appearance and his manner, the fairies could find no flint. But love, as our poets say, is like a waterfall, yielding but persistent, gentle but powerful, and gradually wearing down all that resists it. Those who struck up against him were answered with patience and courtesy; those who sought his counsel were answered with wisdom and humor; and those who kept their distance were yet impressed by the tenderness he showed his son and his wife—humans, for you will remember, fairies were created to love humans. And when they came at last to see that he was no longer an imp, they had to admit then that he was a human, and therefore it was in their nature to love him too.

Any doubters who remained were won over when he won his first battle against Regina as their king.

Blue remained with us about a year before returning to the temple, where she would work a little, assisting in the creation of new fairies, and frolic a lot, among the lambs and the kids.

I remained with my tribe another two years, enjoying the company of my friends, their son Bae, and the daughter whom the gods gave as a gift to celebrate their union. But though I relinquished the anger I'd bore against my sisters, I had changed, in the years I'd lived in the Dark Castle, too much to fit into the tribe again. I became restless. Watching the new family, I came to experience emotions that fairies don't have, a longing for things fairies don't wish for, and in the evenings as I strolled alone in the forest, I began to form a request of my own.

And then the goddess answered.

Wondering about the state of the Dark Castle, Belle and Rumplestiltskin asked me to go and inspect it. The magic instilled in its walls had weakened and faded out, and they wondered what damage intruders might have done. They had no intention, however, of returning, or even reclaiming any of the treasures that the imp had made so many deals to acquire; those things belonged in the past. They expressed a wish to sell the castle and let the profits be distributed among the descendants of the innocents to whom the Dark One had caused suffering.

This gave me an idea. Once the castle and its antiquities had been sold, could we not, I suggested shyly, find a better purpose for the library?

"What purpose, Tori?" Rumplestiltskin asked, but Belle smiled; she already knew. And so they sent me back to the Dark Castle, where my magic and I cleaned and sorted and classified and priced; a full year it took, but at least I finished, and I went out into the world for the first time, a merchant now, and I sold Rumplestiltskin's treasures for very fine prices, excepting the things that had belonged to Bae and Belle: these I sent back to them. Many years I traveled, making sales, tracking down the beneficiaries, and pressing money into their hands, explaining, "Long ago, a man did your family a terrible wrong, and he now begs you to accept this as a token of his regret." No one refused the money, although few of them remembered the wrong for which recompense was being offered.

At last, the final debt paid, I returned to the Dark Castle to rest a short while before I completed my work for Rumplestiltskin: selling the castle. It was not as difficult as I had expected, for now that Rumplestiltskin the Dealer was long gone, his former home had taken on a fascination for some; I sold the castle quickly.

And then I went to work for myself. Taking the money from the sale of the castle, I hired strong men with wagons to remove the books—carefully, carefully, so as not to undo Belle's and my efforts, those many years ago—and I hired stone masons, and they built for me a rather large estate, as Rumplestiltskin would say; and when the masons had finished their work, the wagon drivers began theirs, and the books were brought into the estate and carefully, carefully placed on shelves, and when this work too was finished, I called my estate a library and I opened it to all.

After my long years of labor, I was ready to rest.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle came to see my work; their grandchildren read stories alongside the village children in the ground floor of my library, while their children browsed the upper floors, alongside scholars and statesmen and generals and shoemakers and thatchers and bakers—and spinners. The former owners of these books were well pleased with my choice. As we talked over tea of all that had happened in our lives since those days in the Dark Castle Library, we agreed we had achieved all we were meant to, and most of what we had wished to, and we knew Celestria to be satisfied. Regina had been kept in check, the fairies had learned compassion and understanding, and Rumplestiltskin had finally found love in the arms of his family.

We sipped our tea and agreed we had done well. Yet there was a lingering nagging longing in me that my travels and my accomplishments had never satisfied—

And then the goddess and Rumplestiltskin answered my remaining request.

"Tori, if you don't find it pushy of me, I'd like to bring someone to meet you. His name is Terrowin; he's the father of Bae's wife, a kind and quiet man, but lonely since his wife passed several years ago. . . ."

"And he loves books," Belle added.

And the goddess added, "I would so enjoy performing another wedding!"

What you are capable of feeling, you are capable of giving.

* * *

**A/N. As I was writing this story, "for some reason I can't explain" two Coldplay songs kept playing in my head; "Viva la Vida" seems such a good fit for Rumple, and "Fix You" a good match for Belle. This story is dedicated to Rumbellers everywhere. Though our ship be tossed in stormy seas and threatened by pirates, she'll carry us through. Aye, mates, she's a worthy ship!**


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